Dragon Souls
by Leider Hosen
Summary: When two lands that were never meant to meet are united by an Elder Scroll, the Abyss rises in Tamriel, bringing with it ancient souls that may land Alduin a killing blow against the fragile age of light. As the age of Dark and Dragons rise seemingly unchallenged, only the combined strength of two legendary heroes and the champions of old can halt the advance. Dark Souls x Skyrim
1. Return of Darkness

A/N: Hello peoples! First off this is a crossover between Skyrim and Dark Souls (which isn't in the crossover section because let's face it NO-ONE goes there and i actually want this fiction to be seen and enjoyed. This has been on the Dark Souls side for awhile, and i decided that a lot of Skyrim fans may like it, so it has been moved over here for awhile.

This will follow the events of Skyrim's storyline... for a little bit, but it rapidly deviates from the in-game quest and follows a unique questline follow Skyrim Lore, with the Dark Souls elements fused in throughout. _Background knowledge of the Souls series and its inhabitants is not required, but it will improve the experience _:3

* * *

For centuries they had waited. Searching through relics ancient. Perusing archives so old their existence had nearly been forgotten.

Hunting for an artifact so powerful, it could darken the sky, restore the dead, banish the living, and tear holes in the very fabric of time and space, reaching across the ages…

At the far side of the chamber, a door creaked open, sending rows of cloaked mages turning in place. The intruder, who'd disrupted their silence, walked across the dark expanse, his footsteps echoing on the stonework as he approached the spiral stairs and stone monoliths at the center of the rotunda.

Brazen machinery and plates shone brightly from the ceiling and walls, where several of the mages were casting magic into the crystal diodes, making the preparations for the final step, the stone formations sending grim shadows across the dim space and sharply contrasting with the pinkish-red cloaks of the magicians who'd assembled. None of them showed their face, and none of them spoke.

None could know who was in attendance at this most fragile of moments, not even the Mythic Dawn themselves: such was their way. They communicated only in cryptic letters stashed in odd locations, never revealing their names lest one of them be a traitor.

They were the lost and despised of society, who had nowhere to go and took up the mantle of the occult of ages past, though Mehrunes Dagon was not their sole focus. In fact, they barely cared about the daedric prince at all. For them, they desired a common name, and a common name only.

The messenger stopped at last, reaching into his heavy knapsack and drawing a massive, golden cylinder: highly ornate yet in all ways more elegant than pompous, with knobs at the edges to lift it from and spools of ancient text held within. An Elder Scroll…

For awhile, everyone just stood, the line of cloaked beings coiling up the stairs watching on, gazing at the thing which they had so vehemently searched for, until the wave of the hand sent everyone to their places, the messenger bearing the elder scroll to a frame and placing the golden artifact within, the knobs at the edges clicking into place and fastening the scroll securely.

A dull hum sounded as the button was pressed, the crystal globe folding around the scroll, the runed edges glowing as the artifact was raised into the air by the Dwemer machines, everything falling silent once more as the globe stopped at the center of the rotunda.

It'd taken them decades, over a century, to gather the parts from across Skyrim: bearing them to this secret chamber without damaging them before reassembling them into a working device. Even then, their machine was pitifully primitive compared to true Dwemer technology, a rough mimicry at best.

But, mimicry or not, all it had to do was work, just this one time…

The switches for the device were tripped, the structure of stone and gold humming to life as the light of the full moon reflected down the tower on the surface all the way to the panes of dwarven geode crystals on the ceiling, which redirected the pale light to the corners of the room. The light refracted through the soul gems and runes, unleashing a six great rays of energy into the case cradling the Elder Scroll.

The mages, even the warriors of their caste, put out their hands and focused all the mana they had into the orb, now erupting with energy and blanketing the room in arcane light, the globe oscillating so fast it broke from its brace, continuing to spin so fast the runes upon its surface, glowing with intense moonlight, all bled together into a single white sheen.

So far, everything was holding as planned, the mages shifting from simply feeding it energy to giving the energy resonating from it in tidal waves a form, a purpose…

They all envisioned the same spell, their synchronization flawless as they pictured the barrier between the daedra and the mortal realm slowly eroding away, vanishing, so they could reach chains through the fissure and bind the daedra themselves. Their subjugation would mark total victory over the world, if they could just press themselves further.

The orb of light continued to resonate higher and higher, drawing energy from the mages, the moon, and even from the realm of the daedra they begun to press into.

But, as victory seemed assured, their focus was broken by a great crack, one of the mages opening her eyes and seeing that the orb of light now had a dark spot, then another and another as the cracks continued to spread, her attention breaking from the Scroll to the disks embedded in the golden metal, now blistering white hot and screeching, the moonlight pouring through the facets overwhelming the corporeal material and destabilizing the spell.

The mages pulled all their energy back, seeing the spell, entering its apex, was too powerful even for the Elder Scroll, but it felt as though the spell had clawed from their grasp, all their efforts to rein it in straining their bodies and sending a howling gale of divine wind through the room.

The howl grew louder, the mages feeling faint as the arcane power building in the scroll lit like a star, exponentially rising in power far from their control and overwhelming the mages, their bodies buckling as their eyes started to turn glassy and flash with images and lights.

The globe around the elder scroll burst from the pressure, the earth-shattering sound of broken glass blowing the mages away with shards of crystal shrapnel that tore up the dwarven metal, the moonlight magic going straight into the scroll for an instant before the prisms completely gave way and exploded into shards.

The Elder Scroll, its immeasurable power focused and amplified, unleashed all its power at once, resonating out from the ruins in an incredible wave of magic power the likes of which Tamriel had never seen.

It was over in an instant, as the wave was near invisible and swept through at ultrasonic speeds, so blinding only the most astute of mages could tell what had happened that instant.

Across the world, magic anomalies rose, but the greatest catastrophe was in a land far removed from Tamriel, across the ocean and sea, far past all the lands the realm knew…

* * *

Somewhere high in the mountains is a place man hasn't set foot since the Dragon War, the sky blotted out by flows of snow as the eternal tempest of ice stays at a high gale. The only noise to hear is the whistling of the wind, the only shape a great stone monument in the form of a wall etched in words composed of jagged slashes: like the claw marks of a dragon.

In this desolate sanctuary, overlooked by the foreboding high mountains, a ripple began to open in the air, followed by a tremendous crash, a sonic boom radiating out and blowing snow away. The gouge in the sky broke open, a great, dark shape getting ejected from the rippling scar and smashing the ground, tumbling and grinding to a stop on his black scales, buried in snow.

The figure was still for a long time, so still one could mistake him for dead, though a close inspection would reveal the rise and fall of his chest, steam blowing from his nostrils into the hazy wind lashing over the high valley. He was barely scratched, but exhausted and starved of souls, his body falling into a deep slumber.

Understandable for one that had been lost for almost five thousand years.

After a time, with no sun or moonlight to indicate the pass of day and night, the great beast rose from the banks of snow that'd buried him.

The dragon, black as cooled tar, whose size rivaled a house in the cities of Skyrim, slowly but steadily rose up from his slumber, shaking the snow from his back, the ripples going down his spine shuttering the jagged sails upon his arched back.

Alduin, the world eater, staggered forward, flexing his great black wings and flapping them a few times, far too weak to take flight, but relishing the feeling of stretching his limbs as his hellfire red eyes blinked open.

His memories were foggy, but he recalled being shouted from the sky by those damnable humans, their blades tearing into his sides, though he batted them away with little effort. But then the old one brought forth an Elder Scroll, and cast him into the abyss.

How long he'd been away, Alduin did not know, but he could practically feel the world in motion around him as he was trapped in the void. But, it would seem the void had been split open, earlier than expected in fact.

The world eater breathed in the frigid air, trying to gather his strength, though it was still too early to do much in the way of vengeance. Fortunate, considering petty destruction wasn't the object of his attention as he looked around.

Something was different: beyond the buildings and culture of the little humans that'd dared to strike Alduin and his brothers down, something had changed in the air. The world smelled of blood, and souls. Innumerable souls, but also a taint, a chill, a…

**Dark**

But, to the devourer of souls and eater of worlds, this was the climate he loved most. Sensing the bones of dragons around him, Alduin pondered resurrecting a few of his brothers, but doubted he had the strength. Yet, as he called into the void, a few souls in the galaxy of energies seemed to call back to him, their souls roaring with power and fury.

With what little power he had, Alduin reached to these strong and willing souls, drawing them to the vessels of bone with his voice as their guide:

_Alok-Dilon! Aal Hin Sizaan Sil Gahrot Laas!_ Alduin chanted, the world eater feeling the souls drawing through space, time itself looping and winding as the souls burst from the air and drove into the ground, _**Alok-Dilon! Aal Hin Sizaan Sil Gahrot Laas!**_

Alduin called again, the ancient souls getting deeply imbedded in the skeletons forgotten in the snow of the dragon sanctuary. Feeling his already limited power gone, the world eater allowed the powerful souls to do the rest of the work, a great roar sounding moments later as the snow parted and the stone fractured, skeletons of dragons rising and making all manner of noise as they were twisted into new forms, strange tendrils of dark spooling from them:

Two of them, twins in all respects, howled as their souls, burning with incredible energy, scorched their bones with heatscale, a third exploding from the stone with a great moan, his skeleton growing larger and larger, until he towered over Alduin himself, almost five times as large with an impression like he could grow larger still, six eye sockets drilling through his skull as his crest elongated and a second set of teeth grew in.

Another two skeletons rose nearby, the first pushing from the ground and seeming to frost in the winter gale: his bones turning to pearly ivory as he too grew to enormous size, the bones of his wings, tail, and hind legs turning to ash as his skeleton bent into a deformed shape.

The final rose from the ground with an ear-piercing shriek, the bone's dull white giving way to arcane obsidian, great, elegant fins and horns pushing from his bones as his eye sockets fused into a single, round pit in his angular head, an orange light flaring as the hum continued.

Alduin, in his own, draconic way, smiled. They were few, and it took the limits of his magic to draw these bodies from the afterlife, but they were demonic and unbelievably powerful. They would make great allies for his new rise.

Blinding lights flashed over the skeleton's bodies as they grew in their flesh and bones, their scales layering over soon after, save for one: the peculiar creature's frosty blue eyes gazing sightlessly into the distance as his pale, soft flesh was left to the elements, his thin, butterfly-like wings tucked to his back to avoid damage as he shifted his three tendrils for legs.

Aside from the cripple, the other dragons showed great promise, Alduin admiring how fast they got their bearings as they gazed at the world eater with feelings ranging from confusion, to annoyance, to passive amusement.

Though they were in all ways foreign to Alduin, all dragons fell into his lordship, thus he could convey his intentions:

"Brothers and sisters," The world eater began, "I welcome you to Tamriel." The five before him weren't impressed, the great, godly dragon towards the rear bearing his two sets of teeth.

"What is this place? Where is my shrine?" he boomed, his colossal, humanoid fist cracking at his side, prepared to strike.

"I can no longer feel my lord." The red, flame scaled demon begun, his elder sister rising up bearing her teeth,

"Where is our king, I cannot feel him." Alduin caught movement, the cripple dragon blindly lazing about and mumbling to himself while a black dragon, who surprisingly held Alduin's semblance, stepped towards the world eater.

He was small for a dragon, yet his dark soul felt equal to that of the godlike dragon, catching Alduin's attention.

"I don't care for kings and lands," he growled, his rusty orange eye gazing into Alduin's red ones, "All I want to know is, who are you, and why shouldn't I burn you right now." The other dragons gazed towards Alduin, awaiting an answer, the world eater grinning inwardly.

"Time has come unraveled. I do not know how. I do not know why, but I can feel souls pouring in from lands far beyond this one. I was imprisoned in the void, yet now I am free. I saw your souls in the ether, and I sacrificed the bodies of five of my brothers to give you life."

"And?" the obsidian dragon growled.

"You may not know this, I could not see your souls until now, but I am the lord of dragons, Alduin, the world eater. I have declared my independence from the gods," he looked about, the dragons before him seeming interested, "We dragons are the rulers of this realm, I will see man humbled, and monuments to my glory risen once again. You five are great and powerful, surly you can understand this?"

The five were quiet, the crippled dragon heading towards the rest of the group, mumbling something to himself about a crystal. The godly dragon gazed down on Alduin,

"Yes." He boomed, "But I am no servant of yours. I am a god, and I will be respected as such." The red and blue flame-scale demons, uneasily, went into a passive stance,

"Our king is dead, we have no other purpose, now. We will protect you." The obsidian dragon's rusty eye continued to pulse,

"Why should I?" he growled, "I am the mightiest of all dragons, even the gods feared me _gahhh_" Kalameet was forced to the ground, great pain shooting though his entire body as Alduin's red eyes glowed, the world eater mumbling words of suffering.

"I had the strength to raise you, I could just as easily bury you." He let up, the obsidian dragon standing and shaking himself off,

"Very well," the obsidian dragon growled, "I will fight for you, but," he continued, "I am not your pet to lead around. I will burn all that gets in my way, That includes your precious followers." Alduin considered that a success, the final, crippled dragon leading forward.

"I _will I will_ help you," he stuttered, "I need, need _my _crystal, _it's broken_, he broke my crystal, please, need place to stay," Alduin wondered in amusement,

"Why do you deserve my protection?" he stated, the mad, crippled dragon gazing sightlessly at him with soul detection.

"I can- _I am_-"

"Enough, I've seen-" there was a blindingly bright flash of blue at the wave of the scholar's hand, the energy condensing and lashing forward into a blade shaped arc that swept around the bowl of the valley almost imperceptibility fast, Alduin and the others pausing as the energy dissipated.

A perfect line in the snow appeared, a grinding echoing on the wind as the colossal slabs of rock begun to fall, the stone megalith's cleaved strait in two by the soul sword slowly moaning as they fell over and hit the ground with a great boom.

Hundreds of tons of stone, felled by a single wave of the hand…

"_Sorcery._" He finished, still jittery, "I am a _a _sorcerer, I invented sturdy back in lord _in lo_ in Lordran." Alduin chuckled to himself,

"That mind of yours will be welcome, then." he looked around,

"What do they call you?"

"I _I am_ Seathe. Seathe the Scaleless."

"I am called Kalameet, the bringer of calamity."

"We are the flying dragons, you may name us, master."

"And I am the Dragon God. I know no other name." The last boomed proudly. Alduin continued to survey them. It would be a long time before he gathered enough strength to summon his fallen brothers and awaken his servants in all the crypts across Skyrim, let alone the rest of Tamriel.

But, the winds of change were blowing strong, and the tide was in the world eater's favor, this time…

* * *

87 years later…

* * *

The wooden hull of the ship creaked and groaned slightly, the gentle breeze almost welcoming, though the sky was overcast and grey for near the whole trip thus far. The few rays of light that managed to break through gave some comfort to the sailors aboard the ship, though it wasn't enough most days as the boat rocked back and forth, slowly carrying them further and further from home.

Not one of the pale, forlorn figures aboard the decrepit vessel spoke so much as a word, their only action to pace on the deck, sharpen their weapons, and gaze at the other ships around them. This fleet had about three galleons, quite large by their standards.

Above the flapping sails, which had to be constantly fussed with to keep the wind on them, was a flag flying strong in the breeze: it depicted a sword, known to their people as a holy sunlight strait sword, in flames, the orange rays curling triumphantly around it with the corona of a great sun enwreathing the picture.

This was the flag of Vachst, a new kingdom, formally known as something else in a time long ago. It was built on a land of sun and flame, made possible by a legendary, unknown hero of unimaginable honor and nobility, who was said to have given his very body and soul to the First Flame so humanity may live.

For a time, things got better: souls flourished, the curse lifted, and light returned. But then, something happened: though the flame remains bright and stronger than ever, their curse, a curse of undeath and unliving, has returned with a fierce vengeance.

Everyone aboard the ship had it, and knew that the only way to lift it was to find a land beyond the flame and discover what had caused the curse if not the dark.

The lonely fleet continued its voyage into the unknown: drawn like moths to the unseen continent far, far beyond their own.

For the longest time, it was believed there was no land beyond the land of ancients, that the flame defined all the world, for whenever they tried to leave in ages past, it was almost as though they were guided right back again.

But, somehow, the veil was lifted, the land of Ancients allowed to once again join the world. But, with that came the curse: in every land they saw a person or two with it, and knew the number would only grow if they did not cleanse this darkness as soon as they could, especially since in every land the people were wholly ignorant of what the curse was and how to combat it.

Without the soul arts, gods help them when the outbreak of hollows started and the monsters rose.

But, there was one hope: the people of Vachst were no ordinary people, but undead.

The land they hailed from was brutal and filled with monsters and abominations of all shapes, never in their lives had they known a time of peace and safety, which had molded them into incredibly battle hardened and vicious warriors, their loyalty to one another and iron will the stuff of legends. Death was merely a setback on the road to victory, and they knew it.

If they had to dismantle the world, if they had to take the lives everyone in this land that dared resurrect their curse, they would gladly do so.

The wind picked up again, the crew gazing into the far horizons as the darkened sky continued to send rays of sun dancing over the ocean, their hearts stirring in their idleness.

Soon, they would land in this "Tamriel", and join with their brothers and sisters in war. For the light…


	2. Outlander

A/N: By popular demand, the first true chapter of Dragon Souls…

* * *

The cart gave a firm buck, jarring the man in his seat, his eyes slowly creeping open before forcing them closed again as the intense midday light overwhelmed him, the prisoner shaking the sleep from his head and attempting to stretch, only for a firm rope to painfully grind over his wrists.

The prisoner opened his eyes again once they adjusted, finding his hands tied together in his lap, the wooden floorboards beneath him shaking and moving about as the cart traveled over the rough road.

The prisoner, who was starting to regain his bearings, looked about and saw the backside of an imperial soldier driving the cart forward with a few horses, a few more carts loaded with more prisoners lined up and down the road, the prison convoy making their way through what looked like the north end of Folkreath's forest, the evergreen pines gently swaying the spring breeze.

"Finally awake?" A gentle voice called, the prisoner, Edmund, looking into the face of a Stormcloak before him. He had a scruffy beard and wild blonde hair flowing around his face, his distinctive blue-cloaked armor identifying him as one of Ulfric's foot soldiers.

"Yeah." Edmund sighed, focusing on the stormcloak as he explained what'd happened:

"We walked right into an imperial ambush, you must've been caught too, huh?" Edmund nodded, his tatters feeling dirtier and sweatier than ever as he took advantage of what little movement he could, another chiming in,

"Gods, where are they taking us?" he panicked, his tattered clothes shifting with his erratic breath as he glanced around,

"To Sovengarde," The stormcloak muttered, the look in his eyes saying he already embraced his fate, "With Jarl Ulfric here with us, there's no way the _Imperials _would waste his time taking us to trial."

That name, could he be referring to _the _Tullius, commander of the imperial legion in Skyrim? As a citizen of Cyrodiil, he was expected to know his nations leaders and the world, but he never imagined…

"Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief exclaimed, looking across from him, Edmund following and, to his shock, finding the leader of the rebellion himself sitting there with them. He had long, dirty blonde that tumbled around his shoulders, a set of elegant dark leather adorned with blue foxfur giving him a look of ferocity and royalty in one. Around his mouth was a strong gag of drapery, to stop him from using his legendary Thu'um, the voice of dragons. The weight of his presence was paramount, the thief further panicking,

"You, you have to tell them I'm not a rebel! Please-"

"Quiet! The stormcloak snapped, "Accept your death with dignity. You are in the presence of the true high king of Skyrim." He growled, the horse thief stopping, "We are all brothers and sisters in binds, now."

Edmund felt the weight of the moment setting in himself. He'd done nothing to warrant the death penalty, like the rebels and thieves and murderers, he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hopefully, hopefully something could be done.

He found himself looking to the other occupants of the cart, wondering what they could have done, when he fell on a figure that immediately grasped his attention, having only just noticed her as she was so silent and still.

Edmund could tell she was tall, a bit taller than the average Nord and none too skinny: with a strong, athletic frame that could be seen through her armor, which seemed to be a patchwork of rough steel pads set on strong sheets of leather, a heavy padded coat reinforced with chainmail protecting her chest from the elements.

The style was completely alien to him, and the armor itself was battle scared, mauled, and beaten, as though she spent a week getting chewed on by angry bears. Even her face, which he could see little of considering she had a heavy blindfold over her eyes with a strong gag over her mouth, was riddled with gashes and a few pockmarks from bruises, her long, dark yellow hair overgrown and frayed at the edges.

She'd seen battle, and a great deal of it, the man noticing that while Ulfric, leader of the stormcloaks, had twine ropes around his hands, this strange woman had a blindfold, a gag, chains of iron around her hands and ankles, and leather belts secured over her torso to keep her from moving her arms from her sides.

"Who's that?" Edmund asked curiously,

"She's an Outlander." The stormcloak answered with distain, Edmund getting a little nervous, even with the foreigner completely immobilized. It'd been almost ten years since the outlanders first landed, and since then more and more kept coming.

They were few in number: in ten years there were still only a one or two thousand at most, compared to the 22,000 inhabitants of Solitude, the capitol, alone. But they fought like wild beasts on the battlefield, and behaved no better if the rumors held.

Their most intimidating trait, however, was that it was said that even if you killed them, they would return, many military leaders among both the imperials and stormcloaks claiming to strike fatal blows to their finest fighters, only to see them in another battle a time later.

The priests recommended prayer and holy weapons, for surely they must be demons. Since they spun from the ether with no explanation, not a soul in Tamriel knowing where they came from, it seemed very likely.

Edmund turned from the outlander, looking into the distance, down the road, hoping to reach their stop before anything happened.

* * *

After a long trip through the woods, the convoy finally came to a large village, Helgen, the grey cityscape stretching into the distance, with the familiar sounds of a blacksmith hitting his anvil, fires roaring in the kitchens with fragrant scents pouring from the building fronts, and children playing in the streets, though their parents shooed them inside as they drew close to the doomed prisoners, wondering what was going on.

_Public executions are for the adults, not the children_, Edmund thought to himself bitterly as they passed the forlorn storefronts into the center of town, stone buildings looming around them and towers gazing on their lonely numbers. The back opened, the stormcloak across from him nostalgically looking about.

"To think, when I was a boy imperial walls used to make me feel so safe," he thought aloud, the prisoners getting escorted off the back of the cart along with all the others, their feet hitting the dirt in pairs, until Edmund himself walked off the edge and came to his feet, the imperial soldiers holding him upright when he got a bit jarred and nearly toppled.

He would say thanks, but he wasn't in the mood as his gaze was drawn to the executioner by the chopping block, his axe finely sharpened.

To think, Edmund was an imperial himself, but he just had to leave the ship and try to trespass where he wasn't welcome, now he'd been swept up with Ulfric and the outlander, bound to getting his head removed. It wasn't fair.

Speaking of the outlander, Edmund heard heavy footsteps and turned about, seeing his fellow imperials bringing her to her feet, holding her firmly by the shoulders and walking her down the length of the cart, though she had to shuffle slowly since her feet were still bound together, the odd woman reaching the edge,

"Great, now how do we get her down?" The question was met by the other guard ramming the palm of his hand into her back, the woman flying forward off the edge and landing face first in the dirt,

"See, easy." The other imperial laughed, a few of the stormcloaks joining in. Edmund had to admit, it was nice seeing one of the most feared races in Tamriel, moreso than the Khajiit or even the High Elves, getting put in their place, the stormcloaks hauling her back to her feet and walking her to the front of the line while Jarl Ulfric was brought to the side, where a man donning great golden armor was riding upon a white horse, his authority radiating out.

General Tullius himself, come from Solitude to watch the execution of one of the most infamous men in Skyrim. It would be an honor, if the great general wasn't presiding over Edmund's execution.

"It looks like my men finally caught you," he growled, gazing down on the Jarl, "You may think you are high king, but a High King doesn't use the power of the voice to murder his ruler and plunge the land into chaos!" Ulfric growled into his gag, no doubt ready to blow Tullius right off his horse, which they knew he could do easily, "Now," the general cried, indicating to both the army and all the citizens that'd come to watch, "Let justice be done, and show these traitors to Skyrim's people their crimes will not go unpunished!"

He was met with vehement cheering, the Jarl getting positioned so Tullius could watch him watch his men get beheaded, so they may atone for their crimes while giving Ulfric a show of the empire's might.

Edmund was almost angry he wasn't the first, as he didn't care much for violence, and didn't want to watch the prisoners get executed before his eyes, one by one until it was his turn.

But, before the stormcloaks, the legate in shining armor heading the proceedings called for a different being:

"You, the outlander!" Tullius did not object as the bound woman was slowly lead forward, her chains clanking and clacking as she was brought to stand before the armored commander, who gazed on her with distain from inside her plumed helmet, "Your people have caused more damage than you'll ever know," she growled, shaking her head, "I hope your soul slinks back to whatever hole it crawled out of, and stays there for once, have you any last words?"

The outlander's gag was removed, the foreigner promptly spitting right in the legate's eye, her teeth bore in a bestial snarl before the gag was forced back over her mouth, "Take her to the block." The legate growled angrily as she wiped herself with a neckerchief, Tullius and everyone else watching the demon fighter getting escorted to the block-

A loud roar in the distance caused the procession to stop, looking about in confusion, Edmund watching as the outlander, who was so stoic she could pass for dead, perked up for the first time, cocking her ear out to listen before she was shoved forward again, "I said take her to the block!" The Legate called again,

When the outlander reached the block, she was again pushed down into place, the one guiding her down leaning down to whisper something before the outlander went slack, the executioner raising his axe,

Again, they were interrupted by a loud, long roar, only this one seemed not only closer but, different, somehow. There was a pause, until the legate called again with more support from the crowd.

"Just get it over with!" she barked, the executioner raising his axe one more-

There was no roar this time, just a boom that shook the world around them, a shadow falling over the proceeding, all eyes drawn up to it. Edmund's heart stopped in its chest, as did everyone else's:

Perched on the watchtower was an enormous shape, easily the size of a building, its reptilian tail curled around the watchtower and twitching the great, spiny maul at the end, his black sails seeming to cut the air as his obsidian scales gleamed in the sunlight.

His head turned to face them, Edmund paralyzing with terror as he gazed into the face of the beast, his angular, diamond hard head accentuated by the great horns curved out behind him, dark lines like a cross over his one, rusty eye.

"_Dragon!_" a single person screamed in the tense silence, all Oblivion breaking loose as the black dragon took flight and everyone ran for their bows, another screech sounding as great blue dragon swept past the black dragon, sweeping down and unleashing a torrent of hellfire.

Edmund squinted his eyes as the wave of heat swept over him, his eyes seeing nothing but a long strip of ash and red hot, warping metal where the imperials stood when the flame cleared, the beast roaring and sweeping across the city, Edmund's entire body going numb with shock as he, with his hands still bound, swung around and watched as another red dragon swept around in the distance, unleashing torrents of flame upon the city, with the black dragon making ultrahigh speed dives upon the townsfolk, a fourth rising at the edge of town, so massive he blotted out the skyline with his wings as he breathed a tempest of fire down and brought back a fist, blowing a stone barracks apart with a single swing of his mighty arm.

Edmund, and everyone else, simply swarmed and spun about in confusion as the chaos escalated and ash and smoke begun to radiate from the ruins into the sky.

Four Dragons. Four at once, it wasn't possible, they were extinct, only legends!

Edmund tried to sprint he didn't know where, and ended up just tripping over his feet and scrambling under a rock, bracing his arms over his head as one of the dragons swept over his head, a torrent of flame erupting nearby, accompanied by the sound of a scorched building collapsing.

Edmund glanced to the side, seeing the prone figure of the outlander on the ground, struggling to move, though he bounds made it impossible as she worked her legs. It was a bad idea to bring something like her along, but a part of him felt guilty for letting a woman just burn, helpless…

Against his better judgment, Edmund ran over to her, grinding his ropes against the blade of the executioner's axe and freeing himself, taking a moment to reconsider before he finally relented and pulled the outlander up off the ground, cradling her in his arms and running for it as fast as his legs would carry him.

* * *

The anarchy around the two did not let up, Edmund having to buck the woman up into his arms whenever she started falling down as he scrambled through the chaotic streets, which quickly tired him out and threw him off balance more than once.

"You, into the watchtower!" someone shouted, Edmund diverting that way and jumping into a stone rotunda, the door getting slammed behind him by one of the survivors. The noise outside dimmed a little, the closed space giving the occupants a false sense of security as Edmund slumped down, setting the outlander on the ground and feeling his arms and lungs burning with effort.

She wasn't fat, but he outlander was pretty heavy with all that muscle and armor, the imperial resting against the wall and panting heavily, his throat burning as he looked around the room, feeling pretty awkward. They were stormcloaks, all of them, their eyes looking on Edmund suspiciously and wondering if he was one of the "good" imperials.

Even Ulfric Stormcloak himself was in attendance, out of his binds and standing against the wall. Thankfully, the needs of the injured littering the floor took precedence, the rebels going back to talking in hurried tones:

"Was that really a dragon?"

"I can't be, they are just legends!"

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric growled in his deep, commanding tone, "Right now all that's important is escaping this village while the beasts are distracted. How long until you can move?" The stormcloaks gave varying answers, but it was clear they were ready to go whenever their jarl was, one of the men stepping forward,

"Ulfric, why don't you use your Thu'um to bring the dragons down!" he exclaimed, "surely you can-" he was interrupted by the Jarl's rough voice:

"My voice alone is not strong enough to subdue a dragon, let alone four." He grumbled, seeing his men gazing at him expectantly, "The keep should have underground tunnels: used to escape in a time of war, it's not far from here, if we can move quickly." The stormcloaks nodded, Ulfric at last sparing Edmund a glance as he headed over:

"Hey, I don't want any trouble…"

"And you shall have none," The jarl grumbled, Edmund hauling the outlander from in front of the door to let him pass, Ulfric glancing down on her with his stormcloaks in tow, "Why is she here?"

"I just didn't want to abandon her, I'll drop her off somewhere soon." Edmund explained, hoping the Jarl, devoted to the sovereignty of the Nords, wouldn't attempt to finish her off.

Before Ulfric could act, the tower was shaken by a great roar, the sound of wings slicing through air rattling them as a dragon flew overhead, dust falling from the ceiling as the stone was gouged by claws, the jarl himself paling and glancing about,

"There is no time to worry about that now," he shot off, locking eyes with Edmund and stating with the utmost sincerity: "Mark my words, you will regret this, if you truly care for the safety of Tamriel, you will leave her to the dragons." With that he threw the door open, "follow me, brothers, do not fall behind!" he roared, the stormcloaks following close and taking off with speed, Edmund taking a breath and hauling the outlander off the ground into his arms once more.

She seemed even heavier now that he'd had time to rest, and think on Ulfric's words. Yes, maybe it was cold, but the Jarl had a point: they may appear human, but these outlanders were no ordinary people, they'd done nothing but ravage the countryside ever since they first landed, their witchcraft striking terror into the most hardened soldier.

Even if Edmund was a man of Cyrodiil, would he really rest easy rescuing a murderer of the Nord people? But would he rest easy letting her die helpless, either?

Another roar sounded loudly, Edmund nearly dropping the woman, but recovering at the last moment and starting forward, running on adrenaline as he beat feet across the ground.

It'd been roughly twenty minutes, though it felt like hours, and already the smell of ash hung deeply in the air, Edmund's eyes stinging as he ran through clouds of evaporated debris.

Only the sturdiest stone buildings were left standing, everything else was burned to a husk or collapsed, the streets, to Edmund's horror, littered with charred and burnt bodies, a few even calling out for help, though there was no way the imperial could possibly give any comfort as he tripped over a few charred remains, his eyes stinging as he stumbled forward, his arms numbing at having to carry the damned girl so long.

In his run, which took him though the city on no clear path, Edmund stumbled upon a great stone castle, which was remarkably intact considering the ruins smoldering around him, the elegant red leathers of the imperials and blue adornments of the stormcloaks meshed together as the two forces ran around the keep, a few spreading out and trying to fire arrows at the shapes in the distance, though the arrows had no noticeable impact on the mighty dragons.

In the shadow of the keep, Edmund watched a group of stormcloaks, including the one who'd ridden with him in the prison cart, confront the officer presiding over the execution, the two drawing their swords,

"Halt!" The imperial shouted, pointing his iron sword to the group of stormcloaks,

"Out of the way!" the stormcloak commanded back, "I will not ask you twice!" their argument was interrupted by the crash of scale on stone, the group turning to the top of the keep, Edmund again feeling a part deep within him quake in terror.

For the second time that day, and in his life, Edmund gazed into the face of a dragon: a creature from myth itself. This one was black, like the first he saw, only more dull and jagged, like he was hewn from a dark stone, his eyes red like hellfire with great, arched horns.

Unlike the four he'd seen before, this fifth, somehow, seemed more intelligent, his aura more calm and subdued, though the imperial had no idea how he could grasp this:

"_Zu'u lost daal_" The dragon growled. With that he jumped from the keep, his claws shattering the rock with the force of his power, sweeping over the heads of the fleeing armies and sending plumes of dust down from the ramparts, the armies watching helplessly as their arrows reflected off the Dragon's hide, leaving not even a scratch.

As they watched after the red-eyed dragon, red flying dragon came down without warning, a screech emanating from him as he burned the army to nothing with a great roar, decimating them and leaving their charred bodies to writhe on the ground, Edmund feeling the heat wave across his back as he scrambled to avoid the fire, thanking the nine he was away from the main group and escaped notice, though the red dragon was coming around for another pass,

"You, get over here, now!" the guard from before screamed, the stormcloaks that escaped the blast already gone, Edmund panting hard as ash and the smell of heat and death assailed him, the imperial coughing and heaving, afraid he would fall, until the guard caught him and pulled him forward, Edmund squinting his eyes to avoid being blinded and putting all his remaining energy into his legs, which were screaming with effort after running more than he ever had before, kicking bones and gods know what else aside, until the whole group smashed into the wooden door to the keep.

There was a great screech, like a twisted eagle, the sound of wings so loud they could feel the vibrations hitting their back alongside the rush of survivors running on the entrance, the guard pulling at the door in a panic while everyone screamed for him to hurry.

The imperial looked over his shoulder as the noise and panic and flames drowned the world out, the red flying dragon blowing up in his vision until he seemed to encompass the world, a gout of fire rushing in on Edmund as he stood, on an instinct turning and running forward with all he had, scramming as the wave of heat blasted over his back, the flames blowing through the door as he was pulled to the side, hitting the ground blacked out.

To be continued…


	3. Jolly Co-operation

A/N: Hello, I am so sorry that the last chapter was clichéd. I used it for good reason, but nonetheless I have sinned.

I am sorry (T.T)

To make up for it, a lot of the cool and interesting twists in the story (when it gits gud, reel gud) have been bumped up and given some epic foreshadowing, so please bear with me, I just didn't want to throw changes at the audience with such blistering madcap speed everyone got lost on the way in :3

* * *

_The familiar sounds of waves hitting the shore were welcome in the small, coastal town, trade galleons floating to and fro, Edmund's feet creaking on the floorboards of the warf as he traveled, enjoying the quiet of the dim, misty morning._

_Clouds hung low in the sky, a fine, late winter chill sweeping by on the trade wind. _

_Cyrodiil really was the best place one could hope to live, but alas, some faintly adventurous part of the young man wanted more. _

_To explore the horizons and seek a new life, and with a civil war raging, there may never be a better time to venture into a new land and start up a farm, maybe even a store. Afterall, with his imperial sophistication, who better to reap the fruits of opportunity?_

_He was many hours early, but soon the ship would arrive, inbound for a new life. For Skyrim…_

Edmund shot from his rest, arching his back and screaming in agony as pain shot through his body, rending his very heart and spirit, firm hands holding him down while he thrashed a bit, until the pain subsided and he calmed down.

The Imperial looked to the side, realizing he was on a table: his shirt burned off with several ragged holes in his rough spun trousers, his knee nudging a few empty vials over. The events of the past few hours came back to him as the smell of ash wafted through the door, the sounds of screaming and the roars of dragons continuing to assail him.

"How long was I out?" he mumbled aloud, rubbing his face, the guard speaking from an unseen spot,

"Just a few minutes, I managed to pull you from the doorway at the last moment, but the heat of the dragonfire still scorched your back," he explained, "I rubbed some healing potion into the wounds, they healed but I'm afraid you have some nasty scars." Edmund turned, the imperial guard looking on with relief that he regained his faculties so quickly. The soldier had the vestments of a normal infantryman, only he bore no helm, his friendly face framed by dark, shoulder length hair.

"I guess I should thank you for saving me," Edmund said, standing up, though he had to take it slow as the blood rushed to his head, the fatigue of the past hour crushing down on him harder than ever, "What's your name, anyway?"

"I'm Hadvar, of the Imperial Legion" he nodded, "I'm sorry you got caught up in this, you don't look like a stormcloak, and you don't impress me as a criminal…" Edmund sighed,

"I was walking through the forest, lost on the roads, when I ran into the stormcloaks, then the soldiers ran into them, they fought and I got mixed in with all the prisoners: they said I was either working with them or had hopped the border." Hadvar frowned, a little regretful he was partly at fault:

"Indeed, that is unfortunate, but it seems the gods are with you to have made it this far. It seems it's just the two of us, now," he looked around, unnatural light pouring through the door as the city burned, "We need to get out of here, now. Those dragons won't leave this fort standing forever, and who knows what bandits will rise up when they leave."

"Agreed," The two started forward, Edmund pausing as another detail came to mind, "where did that woman go?"

"The outlander?" Hadvar questioned, motioning to her body, prone on another table with all her restraints in place, "I took her aside, now let's go."

"Wait," Edmund interjected, "outlander or not, isn't it- a bit wrong to leave a grown woman chained like that. And we're both exhausted, how are we supposed to fight our way out?" It was true, they were both dead on their feet, and one could only imagine what would happen to the woman if she was just left alone, immobilized. Hadvar still wasn't convinced,

"You want me to let her out?"

"What choice do we have?" Edmund shrugged, "and besides, she's unarmed, we can finish her off if she tries to attack." Hadvar took a breath, already defeated as he drew some keys from his side,

"Alright, we'll let her out, just for awhile." He sighed, heading over to her, the outlander still as ever as Hadvar unlocked the restraints on her feet with an audible click, then her hands, finally removing the belts around her chest one by one, the last one unclenching and hitting the floor.

The imperial soldier backed up as she started to move, his hand reaching to the hilt of his sword, the outlander brought her arms and legs to the side, her joints making a loud, audible crack as she stretched, arching her back a moment before she slid off the table. She reached up to her gag and blindfold, pulling them off with her pale hands, which were tense and refused to move, as she'd been tied so long.

Gradually, her eyes blinked open, Edmund surprised by the startling blue hue, realizing for the first time that despite how rough she looked, being a barbarian, she looked surprisingly young and youthful, the woman tearing her gag and roughly tying some of her hair back from her face, her predatory gaze focusing on the two.

It was hard to hold her gaze, as it was filled with hatred. Not dislike, not distrust, but pure, primal hatred the likes of which the more refined Edmund couldn't begin to conceive. The creature strode up to the two, Hadvar backing up a step as the outlander overtook him, an air of danger and uneasiness about her as she held eyes with the imperial soldier a tense moment.

Fast as a blink, she let up a shout and drove her fist into the side of Hadvar's stunned face, the force knocking the man armor and all straight of his feet, the soldier landing on the floor with a rapidly swelling violet welt. She let out a few rough breaths before she indignantly stomped across the room towards a rack of weapons.

Edmund couldn't believe his eyes: this woman had the nerve to strike a soldier, than walk away like it was nothing! Hadvar got up and rubbed the now sore spot a bit,

"I probably deserved that," he mumbled, joining Edmund in watching her withdraw an Iron Warhammer from the wall, inspecting it a moment, "What are you doing?" To everyone's shock, she actually spoke, turning to the two and bearing the heavy iron weapon in her off hand as easily as a wooden dowel:

"Like you said, we need to get away from here." Edmund was surprised at this: though she should be _terrified_ at the nightmare erupting around her, she spoke in a slow, almost _bored_ monotone, like she was talking to children, her piercing gaze turning to Edmund, "_You_ need a weapon too, you can't run away from every opponent and expect your luck to hold." In an instant, Edmund's wonder turned to indignation,

"Excuse me? Do you-" he yelped when she threw a longsword at him, blade over handle, the weapon flying past him and embedding in a barrel,

"I don't care what your pedigree is, now shut up and listen." She snapped, motioning to the door to the underground with her warhammer, "The only reason you're still standing: is because our chances of survival are better if we move together. Now I have been beaten, tied up, touched, and run through this fucking city blind, and there are _dragons _attacking, do you _really _want to argue over who has what authority, or do you want to get out of here alive?"

Edmund and Hadvar felt the sincerity in her voice, and decided it was better not to further inflame her temper, Edmund pulling the sword from the barrel while Hadvar joined her by the gateway, the pull of a chain opening the path ahead with a rickety clanking of iron gears.

The outlander started forward, pausing a moment to look over her shoulder at Edmund, who was understandably scrambling forward with his new weapon, though he hated the feel,

"One more thing," she sighed, "if you so much as _try_ to slow me down, or even _think _about tying me up again, you're both dead. I made the mistake of taking it easy once, I won't do it again."

"Don't worry," Hadvar nodded nervously, "I'm sure your capture was just a big misunderstanding, miss."

"My name isn't miss," she hissed aloud, heading down the hall with Edmund and Hadvar close behind, "or outlander, or woman. It's Annie."

* * *

Annie swung the warhammer at her side, her thumb twitching in agitation as she shifted positions here and there over the alien weapon. Her best weapon was the Halberd, the halberdier finding the weapon finely balanced and etched with some strong titanite for extra mass and power.

This bulky iron club was nowhere near that, she just chose it because it was the only thing she saw with good range and power. Now, had the fucking locals left her alone, and not lost her weapon down a gorge, she wouldn't be carrying something about as co-operative as a squirming piglet.

A part of her was still screeching with indignation that she'd fallen into their grasp in the first place. She was far stronger than they were, yet they managed to get her pinned and disarmed after she split from the group to scout ahead.

If being rendered utterly helpless, the one thing an undead couldn't stand above all else, wasn't humiliating enough, getting hauled through the whole town and looked on like a ragdoll was certainly enough to scar her ego.

It was so infuriating Annie almost couldn't contain herself, but losing her temper would be highly counter-productive. Any bearer of the curse had to be patient, or die, the time to work the stress from her system would come soon enough…

The group of three came to a round chamber, several soldiers stepping through the side door and talking aloud about where to go, the undead's rage building in her bosom as she registered their voices with her highly developed senses. They were the ones who laughed at her when she was thrown to the ground.

"Stormcloaks, maybe I can reason with them," the one called Hadvar said, stepping past Annie as she glared down on the rebels, the blue cloaked bastards looking back at the group with some level of surprise.

"Who are you?" one said, "How did you three get past the dragons?"

"Listen to me," Hadvar pleaded, approaching them, "We need to escape the keep-"

"I think not," one of them snapped back, already grabbing his weapons alongside the others, "You imperial bastards think you can murder the true sons of Skyrim in the name of your laws and your damned treaties! Now it is _your_ turn to face justice for _your _crimes!" The stormcloaks started in, Annie already stepping past Hadvar as he retreated and stumbled over some words to calm the situation, the Stormcloak's eyes focusing on her, widening with further surprise:

"You…"

"Yes, me." Annie snarled, drawing her warhammer around. With all their puffery, the stormcloaks surrounded her, Hadvar taking her back with a shield while Edmund crawled to one side with a shaky sword held before him.

"You don't belong here," one of them growled, though the panic in their eyes was loud and clear to her, "Skyrim is for the Nords, your filth is not welcome here!" Their gestures towards her only made the undead warrior angrier.

"Then kill me, if you can." She muttered, coming forward, already measuring the distance between her and them, adjusting the head of the foreign weapon and compensating for the weight as the stormcloaks came towards her with furious battle cries-

Annie's roar stunned the Nord's as she came towards them, her body pressing all her weight into her shoulder and swinging the heavy weapon with such speed it was little more than a blur, the head of the hammer striking with so much force it barely paused as it drove through four men's heads in a row before her, their weapons falling from their sides as their skulls popped like eggs and splattered across the ground.

The stormcloak just past the ones aligned stopped, jumping back as Annie pulled her weight to the side and redirected the momentum of the hammer up and around, stepping into the blow and slamming the head into the ground where he was standing, the stone actually chipping as her hammer reflected back off the ground, the stormcloak stepping forward and lunging with his sword, only for the undead warrior to roll the hammer back, the shaft knocking the blade up and away, though the tip nicked her shoulder plate-

The stormcloak stepped to the side to evade the hammer as it came around, the halberdier shifting her hands and sweeping to the side towards the stormcloak, who managed to jump back out of her reach.

The point of contact on the hammer was much smaller than a blade, which limited her reach, Annie jumping back and rolling to her feet just as another enemy got in her blindspot, the undead halberdier glancing at the two enemies, one to the other as they grouped up and came at her, Annie already seeing one come forward aggressively while the other moved a bit to the side to get to her sides or behind, Hadvar beyond them sparing with a greatswordsmen while Edmund was playing chicken with another stormcloak, clumsily flailing his weapon.

Without any help, she would need to take them both at once, the undead's concentration near inhuman as the first stormcloak swung at her, Annie rolling under the strike and coming from the side to the stormcloak's surprise, the halberdier trying to force the bulky hammer around with the shortened shaft, the head coming around and nearly striking the stormcloak, who managed to evade the clumsy hit once more, the second coming in while Annie was off-balanced, only to scuff her coat as the halberdier backstepped away from him, shifting her feet to regain her balance as the undead warrior jerked her loose weapon back, the shaft sliding down her hand until she clamped down, looking to the two stormcloaks.

This would be easy if she had her primary weapon, but since this was a shit weapon she found lying about, she kept getting tossed off balance and found her patterns extremely limited, the stormcloaks again moving to outflank her.

A reprieve came in the form of a bolt to the head, not the inspiration kind but rather a long, slender rod of hardwood tipped with iron that tore into the back of one of the stormcloak's heads, the soldier getting knocked forward and hitting the ground, surprising his buddy who stopped an instant to look.

That was the last instant life afforded him as the halberdier seized the moment, bringing her hammer behind her head and throwing her weight into one great sweep, the stormcloak leaning away and getting scuffed by the front, though he didn't evade the undead's armored fist as her body flew forward into a crushing right hook, the stormcloak's jaw shattering as he spewed blood across the floor and dropped to the ground in shock, Annie bringing her hammer up and crushing his skull with a strong blow just to be sure he wouldn't stand again, her senses darting around the room to locate any more enemies.

Hadvar was holding his own against the one with the greatsword pretty well, through the greatswordsmen had longer reach, and kept thrusting forward, maximizing the weapon's length to keep the soldier from closing the distance, Annie already closing in on the fighter and letting up a shout to get his attention, the stormcloak glancing at her and leaping away, barely dodging Hadvar's thrust.

Annie came from the front, the stormcloak swinging his sword to the side to chase off Hadvar before the undead came from the front, the stormcloak bringing his blade forward-

The imperial soldier stopped the blade with his shield, tripping the swordsmen up and leaving him wide open-

Annie finishing him off with a strong blow to the head, Hadvar readying his blade as the two fighters looked to the final, still working over Edmund's nonexistent defense with an iron axe, chasing him around while the imperial jabbed at him.

Before Hadvar and Annie could consider a mode of attack, another bolt flew from the shadows, ramming the soldier right in the kneecap as he was stepping into a hit. The stormcloak howled, the now useless joint buckling as the strong bolt shattered the joint, the man falling to his knees and instantly getting greeted by Hadvar's sword through the back of his neck, killing him instantly.

All went quiet, the last of the enemies in the vicinity getting taken care of.

Annie stayed on high guard, looking about and catching Hadvar looking at her with a mix of terror and awe as a white mist swept from the bodies around the room, coalescing into mist that swept into her lower legs and up her body, the undead welcoming the feeling of power.

"You… what are you?" Hadvar shook, clearly unable to comprehend not just the soul absorption, but the sheer force the undead was able to harness. Typical human, no matter what the land, she was just another demon to be shunned…

"I'm complicated." Annie put simply. Hadvar, in a fairly blatant way, retreated from her to comfort Edmund, who actually swung his sword at the imperial soldier a moment before regaining his senses and composing himself, vomiting as he gazed at the pulverized gore around him.

It made Annie smile with a sort of sick pleasure. These people, in this "Tamriel", were about as prepared for the Dark as the average hollow when Vachst's elite pyromancers were deployed. If the undead didn't stop the Abyss as soon as they could, Skyrim's bright little world was going to come crashing down in flames, and they had only their own stupidity to blame.

The halberdier found it hard to contain herself, but figured it would make things more simple if they looked at her with something other than terror, the undead turning her attention to the shadows, Hadvar catching on when he was done babysitting Edmund.

There was someone else in here with them, and he had a crossbow.

* * *

Even as the fighting settled down a moment, Edmund had trouble processing what had just happened, and the sheer barbarity of the fight, especially from the outlander, Annie. He'd never seen such bloodshed in his life, it was highly unbefitting. But, before he could make too much of a fuss about it, the two others were drawn towards the center of the room, searching for something:

"Alright, we know you're in here." Annie called, "Show yourself." Something spoke from an unseen corner:

"Alright, alright, so long as you _don't _kill me." His voice was rough, like he had a terrible throat cold, yet there was also a note of cheer and naivety, like a child.

"Sure, so long as you don't do anything stupid."

"Well, I can't promise that." He smirked, a figure emerging from the shadows behind some crates a moment later. It was almost surreal seeing him appear. He wasn't invisible, yet his presence was hidden so well the three of them seemed to look right over him, his darkened leather armor holding a wood-like texture while his scales, dark with a hint of murky green, gave his body the consistency of swamp water. In the forest, he'd be all but undetectable.

A delayed moment passed before Edmund curled his lip, the creature shifting the strap over his chest to adjust the great crossbow slung over his back. Aside from the murky scales, it had the face of lizard, his snout bearing the reptilian equivalent to a light smile, while his metallic grey eyes peaked at them with slit pupils. An Argonian, only the trickiest race next to Kahjiit.

The reptile strode up to them, reaching a friendly hand out to Hadvar,

"Name's Kaiah'lee, It's good to see I'm not the only one having trouble. It's not every day you can tell someone you spent the day chased by a dragon, eh?" A _fast-talking _Argonian, just what they needed, Edmund thought to himself,

"What were you doing hiding in the shadows?" Hadvar asked skeptically, Kaiah'lee gesturing to the door,

"Here I was, minding my own business, when one of those dragons put a hole through the building I happened to be standing in. I ran all the way to this keep, but just when I thought I'd lay low for a little while, catch a quick nap, these stormcloaks ran in. They seemed to take exception to the fact I was scaly and wearing Bertha, and decided to turn me into a handbag with their pointy swords. I gave them the slip, when I saw you three having some trouble. Now I'm just standing here." He shrugged,

"Why _are_ you carrying a crossbow around: that's for hunting men and I doubt you just bought it?" Edmund snapped, crossing his arms, the Argonian gesturing:

"Says who? Man's gotta eat, and Bertha shoots farther and harder than any bow. As for how I found her, it's a very interesting story, you see there was this goat…" The keep shook under the force of a dragon's roar, the Argonian _laughing_ and raising his hands, "On second thought, it can wait. I've got nowhere else to go, and I haven't exactly put any roots down, and if they did they are now on fire."

"Yes," Hadvar nodded, "We can't stay here long. I have an uncle in Riverwood, not far from here. He can give us a place to stay a few nights, until we can figure out what to do…"

"Wonderful!" Kaiah'lee clapped, "A few minutes and we're already being taken to meet the family, this is the start of a beautiful friendship, I can smell it!" Annie turned as she lead the group on,

"Yeah, just don't slow me down, Kylee."

"That's not my name!" He accused, the group, now numbering four, starting off, Edmund being sure to stay behind the Argonian. He was mad, mad or intensely high on Skooma, one of the two, but whatever he was he was not normal, even more so than a regular Argonian.

What's next, a gourmet orc? A Kahjiit Arsonist? It's too bad Hadvar was the only real soldier in their group, for Edmund doubted he could carry the whole team on his own.

* * *

_Lifts-Her-Tail_

_But what if the mistress catches me? Your loaf was meant to satisfy her appetite._

_Crantius Colto_

_Don't fret, my delicate flower. I'll satisfy the mistress's cravings later._

_Lifts-Her-Tail_

_Very well, but I'm afraid my oven isn't hot enough. It could take hours!_

_Crantius Colto_

_Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time._

_END OF ACT VII, SCENE II_

_Yes!_ Kaiah'lee marveled inwardly, his flawless memory going through every scene of every act without a hiccup, _The entire series! I'm a genius!_

Mind you, memorizing books was quite a feat, most stuttered or missed a couple lines, but not this Argonian master prodigy.

The Wolf Queen? Nine days, no errors.

2920 Vol. 1-12? Eight days.

16 Accounts of madness? Four days.

Lusty Argonian Maid? A mere two days, 19 hours, the latter part of the final act finished whilst hiding from angry stormcloaks.

Even now, Kaiah'lee was sweeping down the halls with his new friends, or at least the people not trying to remove his handsome head from his buff, chiseled shoulders, following the books down one line whilst another thought line processed his surroundings.

The place was a mess, that was for sure, definitely not dragonproofed. Or stormproofed for that matter as the warriors in blue swept through the dungeon, upturning everything they could get their hands on and looting the place for weapons and supplies for the glorious Nord Master Race and their most righteous war.

Thankfully, the company the prodigy held had more than a few braincells between them, opting to stay far away from the warriors while they came through.

Lo, did the creepy torturer and his meathead assistant get torn apart by the rebels when they noticed their companions were treated less than favorably, Hadvar commenting on how he wished they didn't need places like this in the first place while Kaiah'lee kept his eyes forward, catching the backsides of the stormcloaks and warning the group to slow down more than once.

The keep slowly melted into the stone underground, the ceiling and walls getting replaced by damp, mossy flows of stone, the silence becoming the white noise of sweeping flows of water as the underground lakes and rivers flowed through the natural trenches in the ground.

The prodigy made a sport of scuffing his foot through the sediment, noting how all the natural minerals and rocks all ground together into a fine powder, the water cementing it into a nice little sheet of mire. They came to a drawbridge spanning a trench, a waterfall sending rivulets of mist and water though the chamber.

"This must be the way out, quickly now!" Hadvar exclaimed. The prodigy slipped ahead, his boots clacking on the hardwood,

"Lady's first, am I-" There was an earthshaking roar accompanied by an explosion of rocks from the ceiling, Kaiah'lee's throat constricting as he was fiercely jerked backwards by the collar.

The massive slabs of rock scuffed his snout, crushing the wooden drawbridge as easily as paper as a flood of light and blinding dust blew over him, a gaping hole appearing the ceiling where a massive dragon crashed down and took off.

Kaiah'lee lay prone a moment, hearing the boom of the rocks as they continued smashing their way to Oblivion, clouds of dust and smithereens floating skyward. He was a tough, hard boiled, super sniper Argonian with grand powers, but gazing into the sky and envisioning what the roof of the cave paired with gravity could do to him was pretty humbling.

He leaned up, Annie glowering at him,

"I told you not to slow me down."

"Eh huh." Kaiah'lee nodded absently, flipping to his feet and letting Hadvar think of a way forward, finally motioning to a hole in the wall that lead into more caves.

"It looks like this is the only way forward, let's hope there's a way out at the end." Edmund, the optimist of the group, peeked in,

"And what if there isn't a way out?"

"I know, why don't we just set up a campfire- and tell spooky stories until the angry dragons leave?" The prodigy suggested, Annie pointing back over her shoulder to the pile of rubble that was once the way back, looking more and more hormonal over his antics since she hadn't beaten anyone to a bloody pulp in a whole ten minutes.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're trapped here. That may be our only chance to escape."

"And?" He shrugged, "Didn't your mom ever tell you 'don't panic in a crisis situation'? Acting like we're all going to starve to death in this cave won't help anything if that's what happens. Have a little faith, will ya'?" She seemed to glower more at that, but had no comment as she stormed ahead after Hadvar, Edmund discretely waiting behind him, as he had for the whole trip.

Typical human: they see a 6'5 lizard monster with a mechanical bow and they immediately jump to conclusions…

"How's the view?" Kaiah'lee called, the imperial curling his lip,

"I don't know what you're talking about, Argonian."

"Well, since you're not doing anything useful at the moment…" The prodigy bent over, lifting his tail high, "Do you see any parasites back there?" Edmund moved with speed to rival Azura, stomping ahead and muttering something about "indignation" and "indecency" and assorted mumbo jumbo imperial stuff, Kaiah'lee glad to be at the back of the pack again, where he could think without an anus in his anus.

* * *

After a brief walk through the caves, now heading outside Helgen, the company came to a cavern chamber, Hadvar putting his arm out to halt them, waiting for them to fall into place before pointing into the chamber, towards some bodies of worker's and the skeevers that'd moved in.

It was hard to see since the only real source of light was the fluorescent mushrooms around the walls, their blue-green glow ominous yet soothing. Well, it would be soothing if there wasn't the teeny, tiny threat of death lurking around them, Kaiah'lee bringing his hand towards his chest and focusing on one of the books he'd absorbed, his magika rushing to his fingers and sparking into a light, which the prodigy sent into the chamber.

The magelight settled at a point above the bodies, floating around the chamber and brightening it enough shades to make sense of what was going on.

"Frostbite Spiders." Kaiah'lee surmised, clearly seeing the puncture marks on their bodies and the sheen of spidersilk from the magelight, "This will be fun." He found the other three gawking at him,

"You're a magician?" Hadvar exclaimed, the prodigy shrugging,

"Well _mage _is a bit of a strong word, but I've learned some illusion spells."

"How? There can't be many books here in Helgen."

"Well, it all-"

"Can we just go?" Edmund growled, though his attitude was a little shaken, "Even if there are frostbite spiders, I thought you guys could fight."

"It's not that simple," Annie, the wizened of the group added, "Giant spiders tend to run in large numbers, and their bite is poisonous."

"She's right," Hadvar nodded, "We'll need to move quickly to keep from getting swarmed, otherwise we may have a problem."

"Well, let's go then." Kaiah'lee shrugged, looking forward "One… Two… _Three!_" Everyone shot off, running through the chamber towards the side corridor, their only way forward.

It all went downhill from there. They believed the spider's would come from the ceiling or walls, instead, a large group nested within the corridor they were running on: the cave, lined with silk, seeming to close shut as the chamber belched out several spiders attracted by the heat and noise of their presence, the group peddling back.

The spiders were nothing but giant tarantulas, their thorax and torso covered with grey fur, while their fronts and legs were balded and colored a light orange. Their real attribute though, as they closed in on the fleeing group, was their speed. Rather than the slow, furry things a little kid would enjoy as a pet, these were akin to the wild Huntsmen spider, the one's that ran down and subdued their prey.

Within seconds, they came down on the group of four, Kaiah'lee's heart racing in his chest as all off his focus, which usually floated around in thought process after throat process, converged on one topic: keeping his hide alive:

Seeing no time to draw his crossbow, the prodigy pulled his shortsword from the sheath on his thigh, a spider jumping at his face with his leg's outstretched to grab him, Kaiah'lee thrusting his sword the instant it drew in arm's reach and stabbing it through the front, rolling with its momentum to throw it aside, another spider hopping towards his feet.

The prodigy's boot met its head, crushing the spider to the ground an instant before Kaiah'lee's finely honed blade spun over his hand into place and plunged into the spider's head, the Argonian looking to the side and viewing Hadvar using his shield to stop a spider, his blade reaching under to stab it, leaving his rear unprotected as another spider jumped up-

The prodigy spun his blade and threw his body around, the shortsword snapping forward and ramming the spider in the side, stunning it as it crashed into Hadvar's back, bouncing off and leaving the soldier unharmed.

Kaiah'lee turned back to another spider that slipped past Annie, who was at the forefront using her hammer to crush the spiders to pulp in wide arching swings. The critter ran forward with speed, Kaiah'lee without his shortsword to protect himself-

The prodigy thrust his palm out and unleashed the focused magika in the form of a blinding strobe, the creature stopping to orient itself a moment-

"Catch!" Hadvar called, throwing the prodigy's sword as the spider sprung forward. The Argonian ducked the spindly legs and caught the spider by the underbelly, flipping him to his back with one hand as he caught his weapon with the other.

His finger's found the sweet spot on the hilt as the spider tried to bite his hand, several cleaves putting it down. Kaiah'lee stood and sheathed his blade a moment, noticing the hive was already mostly put down, seeing Annie and Hadvar were alright, but Edmund was struggling, swinging his weapon like a madman at a single spider that got through the three others.

Kaiah'lee dropped Bertha from his shoulder, his arm going to the handle while his foot went to the brace, a single solid pull drawing the carriage back, a swipe into and out of his bag drawing a bolt. Within those six seconds, he loaded the crossbow and drew a bead on the spider, watching it's every move, until it made the mistake of springing on the imperial-

The prodigy measured the direction of the fall, the twitch of his finger launching a great bolt at where Edmund was, only for him to fall under the shot and allow the projectile to strike the spider atop him, the arachnid getting launched off while the Argonian flawlessly loaded another shot and looked for another target, sniping another spider leaving the cave.

Perhaps ten spiders were crushed, and it seemed the fight was won, but as Hadvar finished off his last spider, Annie left her back turned an instant too long, a spider leaping off the wall and grabbing her back, plunging it's fangs in before they could stop it.

She let up a shriek, dropping her hammer, a few more of the spiders leaping on her and bringing her down. The prodigy ran for her, sniping a spider off her back before throwing Bertha on his back and drawing a shortsword in one hand and a dagger in the other, Hadvar at his side.

The spiders feasting on her, numbering four, were dispatched and thrown off, the things too gluttonous to even stop the swordsmen.

Those seemed to be the last as things went quiet, though that didn't stop the venom in her system. Hadvar started to panic, so Kaiah'lee calmly threw him aside, sitting on the woman's waist and sending his eyes scanning over her.

Tough the spiders were still babies, she took a massive dose of venom. In seconds she was pale as snow, her eye's dilated to max with shock as some of her veins turned an azure blue, then white and pressed above the skin, the scream snuffed from her as the blood-freezing poison worked through with speed as she convulsed in place and hicced with agony.

There was no time to split her armor open and see what area had the most venom, so he simply picked the puncture that looked closest to her heart, reaching into a pack at his side and drawing a clod of moss in one hand while he took a flask in another, putting the moss in the wound.

Her convulsing grew even more erratic as he took two fingers and drove the clod into her wound, her freezing blood gushing out as he ground it in to push the juice out before pouring a large helping of the flask in to be sure, the prodigy removing a rag from his side and placing it on the weeping hole, bracing his arms and putting it under heavy compression.

To Hadvar's astonishment, the mixture getting pressed into her begun to work near instantly, the veins starting to turn from white to blue, going back down as the ice turned to blood and circulated into her heart once more, though her breath and heartbeat were still near flat.

"How, how did…"

"I know, I know, it's working pretty slowly, but to be fair I had to scavenge the ingredients from here and there. Can't afford the good stuff." He grumbled, Edmund shaking his head in poisonous distaste:

"So, you're telling me you're a Sniper, an Illusionist, a sword fighter, _and _an alchemist?"

"It's a thing!" he snapped, Hadvar staying on guard while she recovered.

"How did you learn to do all that?" Hadvar asked, genuinely curious, the prodigy shrugging.

"Oh, the usual: reading some books, mixing some herbs, giving myself blood poisoning a couple times, fighting some bears, shooting at things, fending off a few bandits. It's not that hard when you do it a few times."

"That's… Amazing, why don't you go to Winterhold or the Legion?" The prodigy laughed,

"Do I really look like the soldiering type? Do this, Do that. And don't even get me started on _school_. Read this, don't read that. Pornography is not allowed, Ha! Prudes and imbeciles, the lot of them. My pockets may be a little empty, but at least I can learn what I want to learn, you know? Ah, probably not."

Annie begun to move ever so slightly, her fingers almost instinctively touching at a pocket on her side, Kaiah'lee leaving the wound and opening it for her, withdrawing an emerald flash brimming with glowing, bright golden fluid, like liquefied rays of the sun.

"Hello," The prodigy wondered aloud, opening the top and sniffing the fumes a couple times, finding it didn't smell like anything plant, animal, or magical, "What are you?" Before he examined further, Kaiah'lee decided to lift Annie's head and pour a bit in, the powerful potion of, whatever it was exactly, sending a jolt through her body, the color returning like ink soaking a paper as her breathing became strong and hard.

"And now," he said, leaning down to the others horror "I will awaken this sleeping virgin with a kiss upon her maiden lips." Alas, as he drew close she peaked one eye open and acquainted his temple with the broadside of her knuckles, knocking him off.

_Ow_

* * *

That was twice, two times in one day that Annie had been bested in combat. The first time it was because she was grossly overwhelmed, and took the humans of this land too lightly. Now she'd been honorably beaten by monsters, but rather than let her die and accept her defeat, she was pulled back with healing magic, by the lizard no less.

She couldn't let herself die too many times, or she'd hollow, but at the same time, any undead worth their salt was strong enough to take care of themselves, especially without a fellow undead on her level accompanying them. Damn, it was so frustrating!

"You seem to have dropped your flask of… whatever you call this." Kylee said, bestowing her with her Estus Flask, which Annie snatched from his hands, only to cringe as her arm went numb and head spun, "I wouldn't make any sudden moves for awhile," Kylee suggested, "When the blood in your veins thawed, it turned to water. I'm no apothecary, but I don't think that's very healthy for you. I'm guessing that flask restores the physical state of anything who consumes it, but it won't expel bloodbourne toxins or ailments, am I right?"

"Yeah…" Annie hissed. He was sharper than he looked to be able to guess all that, but she didn't worry about it as she slowly got to her feet, every fiber of her body crying out as she slowly trod forward and lifted her Warhammer, the iron weight actually pulling her down as she slung it over her shoulder and tried to find her balance, the room seeming to list this way and that.

Since she was freed, Annie'd expended a lot of energy, and while souls raised her strength and stamina greatly, the halberdier's near death encounter had worn her down considerably, Annie taking her flask back and taking an extra sip to put a bounce in her step, slipping it back in her thigh holster.

"We need to keep moving," she said plainly, her fury replaced with a weariness at the long day as she started towards the now clear side chamber, glancing at the others. She was the best fighter on the team, and was barely standing let alone combat ready. Hadvar was a skilled soldier, but only human, his gait noticeably more rigid and mechanical as he pushed himself to move, breathing heavily. Edmund was useless anyhow, and was wheezing and no doubt ready for a longwinded complaint about how hawed his life was.

The only one who seemed unruffled was Kylee, but a single lizard was hardly enough to compensate for the others if another fight broke out.

If they slowed down now, they may never get started again, and who knows how long they had to move before they hit the exit, assuming there was one. Annie was dearly regretting the fact she hadn't brought a Soapstone with her: a few skilled undead from across the void would have no trouble clearing the way, they'd know what to do.

Annie was good with a halberd, and had beaten plenty of sparing partners, but in her haste to reach Tamriel and defeat the abyss alongside her brothers and sisters, already being the youngest undead to ever brave the journey, she'd forgotten the spirit of Jolly-Cooporation.

Now she was trapped with these dumb _fuckers_…

Her brooding was interrupted by a sudden crack, her boot getting stuck to the ground. Annie's icy blue eyes glanced down to the spider silk lining the way forward, her feet working side to side, though the silk didn't budge, her foot struggling in vein.

"Don't worry, I got this." Kylee said, crouching down and drawing a flint and steel, reaching towards the silk lining the side of the wall.

"What are you doing?" The halberdier asked nervously, earning no answer from the mad lizard. He struck a light, the sparks falling to the silk and setting the natural oils ablaze, the entire chamber erupting in flames. Annie braced her arms over her face as the heat wave roared forth, scorching her frayed hair at the edges.

After a couple dozen seconds, she opened her eyes to a clear, silk-free chamber, nothing but singed fibers tumbling down the stones into a nice pile, Kylee already marching forward with the other two just behind, "Are you insane!?" The halberdier barked, "You could have burned me!"

"Well _someone_ had to it." he shrugged, the lizard working forward nonchalantly, "spidersilk is tough stuff, I once wrangled a troll with it, than I stuck a second troll to the first troll just to be sure, and it never broke." He mused, some level of odd fascination in his voice. "It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen."

Annie just sighed, unable to comprehend the depths of his stupidity: either for making up such a ridiculous lie, or for trying to stick two trolls together with spider silk. The moment she recovered her strength and got her bearings, she was going to head for the nearest undead camp she could find.

Yet, she somehow got the impression this exile wasn't going to end soon, her focus drifting from one wall to the next as the unbearable, innocuous quiet settled in around her, leaving her with nothing to divert her from the abyss of her thoughts, the undead eventually settling on the floor, listening to Kylee humming a tune of some sort to himself.

"Hold up." Hadvar called suddenly, the company stopping in their place as he motioned forward. At the far end of the dank cave, laying in a pool of light filtering through the ceiling, was a large black bear, maybe 800lbs. She'd hunted enough game in Vachst to know bears were nothing to trifle with, especially when only one was in any condition to fight, "We should sneak past it," he said, "everyone stay low, and follow me."

Hadvar crouched, Edmund trying and failing to mimic the soldier as he stared at the damp earth, no doubt trying not to lose his balance and get his dainty hands muddy, Annie crouching down and wondering were Kylee was…

"Where's the lizard?" she snapped in a hushed voice, looking about. Something grabbed her ass, the halberdier flipping around so fast she spun herself off her feet and landed in the water next to her.

"Very sneaky, no?" he chuckled, silencing himself again as the undead swept around and stared as hard as she could into the shadows, not catching so much as a glimpse of him.

The man had talent. Most of it spent on being massive nuisance, but talent nonetheless, Annie giving up and proceeding onwards. The three of them, especially since Hadvar was wearing armor, had to focus all their efforts on remaining quiet and moving as slow as possible, as not to rouse the bear.

As the water trickled down the walls, a flow passing by them as they came forward, time seemed to move excruciatingly slow: every fall of the pebble from the ceiling seemed to hit the dirt with the force of an asteroid, every flow of the stream by them tore through like a tsunami, every rattle of their armor boomed like a Warhammer striking an anvil.

Thankfully, as wound up as Annie made herself imagining the fight with the bear, envisioning her death, a thing all undead couldn't help but do with the way they lived their lives, the most they got out of the sleeping beast was a twitch of the ear and a load groan that had to be snoring, the three getting well out of earshot and finding Kylee, of course, lounging against the side of the cave ahead of them.

"_Well hello_." He growled insidiously, the three walking right past him without a passing glance, the lizard shrugging and falling behind them.

Miraculously, the caves finally started trailing _up_, Annie realizing that if there was a bear and spiders living here, then there had to be a way to get out and feed, until they saw the light of day, only rather than a hole in the ceiling, it was at last ahead of them, the four taking a breath and stepping into the light.

* * *

The daylight was blinding for the undead, Annie bracing against it a moment, letting her eyes blink the bleed of colors away, until she was ready to gaze out alongside the others. After facing the fear they'd imprison her until hollowing, assuming the inhabitants of this country developed some level of intelligence, the light was a welcome sight.

As frustrating as the inhabitants were, Tamriel really was a beautiful land, this "Skyrim" a beautiful province. As far as she could see there were rolling, healthy pines, now turning a mysterious shade of emerald as the sun begun to set on the horizon, the sky a starburst of oranges and reds above the mountaintops, the ice gleaming in the last light of the day.

Through the forest and mountains, clouds lazily passing overhead while the songbirds and small animals chirped and whistled in the untamed foliage, broken only by the stone path to civilization, there were gleaming lakes and rivers, the picturesque scene almost more than her jaded heart could process.

Somewhere, in this very land, souls and humanity were pouring forth, the Abyss taking root, while the Darksign was preparing to erode the very premise of civilization from the inside with paranoia and hollowing, yet this land looked untouched by hollowing, a sanctuary of peace and life.

Annie had to wonder if this is what the father kingdom, Lordran, looked like before, when the First Flame was strong and the Abyss didn't exist. Swept up in the moment, she lay down her warhammer, placed her feet together, and raised her arms skyward as if to embrace the sun, closing her eyes in a moment of silence, though the people of Tamriel were much too stupid to understand the significance, having never gone without the light, which had the very real threat of disappearing thanks to their actions.

Unbeknownst to her until she opened her eyes, Kylee, out of curiosity, admired the sun and praised as well, deciding he much liked it and would do it again when possible, Hadvar and Edmund waiting impatiently because they were the only two that could fend off the wolves and bandits that may attack them.

When it was over, her reverie lasting a firm 15 minutes, as any proper undead would allot to something so important, she took up her Warhammer and started off again, revitalized with the other three just behind. Hopefully, it was not too late…

To Be Continued…


	4. The Coming Dark

With no small amount of help from the nine, the journey to Riverwood, as Hadvar called it, was brief and uneventful, nothing but the gentle woodland to greet them as they traversed the road, the path leading them near a wide river, where small fish were swimming around, various small animals watching them pass and scurrying off, Hadvar assuring them this stretch of woodland was very safe with the nearby hold of Whiterun to keep watch.

There was one thing that seemed out of place, however, that cast a literal shadow over the land: high atop the mountain across the river was some sort of temple, the dark, triangular building emerging from the stone, with great, black arches stepping down the peak a little ways.

Even with the building miles in the distance, the group could feel that the land exuded an ominous presence, Hadvar pointing the place out as they drew near the town.

"See those ruins?" He asked in a hushed voice, "Bleak Falls Barrow. As a child, I had nightmares the Draugr would come down from the hills and snatch me away. You'd do well to avoid those Nord tombs, nothing good can come of disturbing the dead." The topic died there, the group continuing as they were.

Edmund stumbled upon the legends upon occasion during his light readings on Skyrim's culture: it was said that long ago, the Nords worshipped the dragons, and that their highest followers were promised immortality until their return, though the details were hard to discern.

Legend or not, it was a confirmed fact the restless undead would tolerate no trespassers in their crypt, Edmund shuttering and thanking the nine they weren't going anywhere near there.

With the last rays of twilight falling over the land, they entered the village. Everyone had gone to bed, or was putting the last of their tools away for the evening, letting the party's entrance be quiet and uneventful, which was more than welcome since Edmund could only guess at what antics the outlander and Kaiah'lee would pull if the place was bustling.

They let Hadvar lead the way, since he knew the area better than the others, letting the strangers look to their surroundings a bit. The place was nothing compared to the glory of Cyrodiil: the majority of the homes plain, unadorned wood sliced at the local mill with a roof of woven straw, the only stone a rough, mossy flagstone to stabilize the structures on the wet earth.

The town, which couldn't house more than 700 souls, seemed split, slowly growing towards a distant wall of mountains on the right, while the left was cut away by a flowing river, some islands spaced here and there connected by bridges for the locals to travel on, a few huts, woodcutting sheds, and even a lumbermill churning on the bars of land while the river slid gently by.

While the imperial was sure there wasn't anything in the way of high class amenities, he couldn't deny there was a certain charm to the town: not a shady figure or foreboding sight to see. There weren't even any guards, just a few archers lazily sitting atop the shoddy defensive wall at the front of town.

All Edmund heard was "good evening" or "nice to see you", cementing his opinion this province had some decency to be found.

The group came to a long building, a sign marking a blacksmith hanging off the edge, the light of molten metal and smoldering coals radiating from the stone kiln on the rear balcony. The blacksmith, an older man with a dusty beard, was hanging his soot-stained apron on the wall, wiping the sweat from his brow after the long day of work, going from the coveralls to his blackened tools and hanging them on their respective pegs.

"Papa!" A young girl nearby called when she spotted them coming, running to him and tugging on his ragged red sleeve, "Look, Hadvar's come to visit!" The blacksmith looked up from his work, seeing Hadvar and setting the clamp in his hands down,

"Hadvar!" He called, stepping from the balcony and approaching his nephew, "If you were coming to visit, you should of sent a letter ahead, then I could have prepared you a proper welcome!" The blacksmith greeted jovially, his smile falling a little as he noticed the imperial soldier's haggard shape, along with the three strangers flanking him, Edmund feeling humiliated at being half naked from the dragonfire while the Argonian and Outlander stood by, no doubt wondering what to say since they looked as fit for society as mangy dogs:

"Hello!" the Argonian waved, "Name's Kaiah'lee, pleased to meet you." The blacksmith looked from the lizard to Hadvar, understandably confused.

"Are these friends of yours, nephew?" Hadvar nodded, his face paling as he tried to put what happened into words his uncle could follow:

"Helgen was attacked by dragons, if it weren't for these three I would have never made it out alive."

"A dragon?" The blacksmith exclaimed, "My dear nephew, you must understand these jests are not-"

"Uncle." Hadvar snapped, softly as to get his attention. The blacksmith was silent a moment, glancing around, like he was being watched all of a sudden:

"Come inside, quickly." He invited, abandoning his forge and leading the four in.

* * *

They all sat down to a late dinner, Alvor the blacksmith calling Sigrid and Dorthe, his wife and daughter respectively, and telling them to cook all the spare food they had, the table set up for a feast by the time the flame was snuffed from the oven.

Edmund tried to do the polite thing and say they didn't need any food, but Alvor insisted since a friend of Hadvar's was a friend of the family, and he couldn't allow them to go hungry when they looked as depleted as they felt.

With everything from fried slaughterfish caught in the river to fruits and berries picked in the wilds, they had plenty to eat, the outlander especially ravenous as she packed down as much meat as she could stomach and washed it down with a full bottle of mead and tablespoon of salt, her bare hands plunging back into the fruit dish right afterward before she speared a fired rabbit leg with a spare knife, Alvor staring at her as the outlander's abominable table manners made it impossible for anyone to get some peace, save for the Argonian, who seemed at home as he chewed the juice out of several berries before finally swallowing the rinds.

"Mmm," he sighed, "You know what would be good? If you ground these snowberries up and mixed them with cinnamon and sugar: you could brew a great tea!"

"I never thought of that." Sigrid smiling politely, everyone feeling hungry again, though it'd be impossible to eat anymore without rupturing something.

But, when they were full and fairly comfortable, the time came to explain themselves:

"So, Hadvar," Alvor started, "you're telling me you saw a _real_ dragon in Helgen?"

"Not just one, but five, each more hideous than the last." Hadvar grimaced. Alvor put a hand on his head, glancing at the floor a moment, trying to absorb the notion.

Edmund could relate: the dragons were frightfully powerful, and believed no more than myth. To have five rise again, strike from the blue, then vanish without a trace was nothing to take lightly.

"I knew I saw a dragon…" Alvor mumbled to himself, "Flying past the mountains, but I didn't want to believe it. What of Helgen?"

"Gone." Annie spat plainly, "Burned to the ground, there's nothing left." The harsh tone was uncalled for, but there was no better way to say it, Alvor letting out a sigh,

"By Ysmir, first the rebellion, and now the return of the dragons. Dark times are truly upon us."

"Yeah, about that…" Kaiah'lee said, Edmund stomach lurching at the potential comments the lizard could make: "I think Little Annie owes us an explanation, herself." The outlander paled at the attention placed on her,

"On what, exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugged, "Maybe on 'why do you praise the sun like it's going to vanish', 'why do you hate humans when you really look like one'. Oh, and there's the matter of that flask at your side, the one filled with a liquid fire."

He watched her with his metallic, calculated eyes, Edmund more than a little spooked as Annie seemed to shrink away, Alvor a little curious as to this barbarian's origin as well.

"You're an outlander, aren't you? With all those powers and anomalies, it seems pretty obvious, doesn't it? So that leads to one, very big explanation: why does a nation that wants nothing to do with us, up and decide to sail thousands of miles from leagues beyond Tamriel to pick a fight, then act they don't want to be here." He leaned in, "Unless you're looking for something, or someone, in particular. Am I right?"

Annie's expression said it all, Alvor looking ready to throw her impure body out the door, but everyone in the room was too curious to drop it since she'd been pushed into a corner and had to explain herself:

"Alright," She muttered, "It's hard to explain it all: the story of our people is convoluted and winding... I come from a kingdom called Vachst, far away from here. We thought we were the only people in the world, until something happened almost 90 years ago. Our lands have been separated, they should _always_ have been separated."

"Then what made you come here?" Hadvar asked, Annie's hands splintering the edges of the table as she clamped down, letting go and slowly drawing her wild hair aside to reveal the side of her neck, Sigrid covering Dorthe's eyes while the other's looked on.

The flesh was branded with a mark a little larger than a Septim, the skin blackened and eaten through, leaving a necrotic pit rimmed with an orange corona, like fire.

"_This_ is why," she muttered contemptuously, ruffling her frayed hair to cover the cursed mark again,

"By Mara's grace, what is that?" Alvor asked, shaken and just as pitiful of her as everyone else, Annie looking more hurt than angry, now that she'd displayed the brand of her impurity.

"The Darksign, the mark of an undead. In our land, life flows to us from the flame, the First Flame. Four great beings found the souls of Lords in the flame long ago, and used them to create a thriving nation, one we believed spanned the world, though it would seem the forces at be isolated us," Her mood fell into melancholy, the group allowing her to pause and collect herself,

"No flame can burn forever, the First Flame no exception. When it faded, it could no longer sustain us, and though the gods struggled to find a way to keep the flame burning, they could not. It was then the Dark rose, and our curse was born.

All who carry the Darksign are doomed to die a violent death, only to rise again from the flames, losing some of themselves along the way. This will happen to us all- over and over again, until we lose all of ourselves, and go mad. We become less than undead: Hollows, mere shells of what we were."

"Does that mean-" Edmund started, Annie nodding,

"Yes, I will hollow one day as well. It may take decades or even centuries, but when the curse claims you, there is nothing to be done."

"Then why come here?" Kaiah'lee inquired, the undead continuing:

"There is no cure for the curse, but we can stop it from spreading by re-lighting the First Flame, or delaying our own hollowing by feeding souls and humanity to the fires, restoring our bodies to a past state. But," she paused, shaking her head in frustration,

"The First Flame was only _just_ lit, it's nowhere near the point of dwindling. The Darksign was stopped almost three centuries ago by the Chosen Undead, when he cast his soul into the First Flame, yet, somehow, the Dark returned anyway, stronger than even our worst predictions." Annie went quiet, her eyes darting erratically as she tried to find the next thing to discus, Kaiah'lee's own lizard brain alight with thought, until he somehow reached another deduction:

"Dark. Dark. _Dark_…" He mumbled aloud, Catching Annie's attention as he played with the word,

"What is it now?" Edmund snapped, the Argonian ignoring him in favor of looking to Annie, his curiosity piqued:

"Tell me something, why do you say 'Dark' as though it were a proper name? Like, say, a person, one that actively plots and destroys, or more importantly, _moves_." Annie snickered humorously:

"You have no idea. The Dark I'm referring to is nothing like the simple 'nighttime' dark or 'shadow' dark you're used to. What I'm referring to- is the Abyss. A void of pure, utter blackness: a wellspring of souls and humanity that draws undead like moths to a Flame. Its power is beyond human, or even undead comprehension.

In our history, it has only run out of control one time: an entire civilization erased before Manus was slain and the Dark Soul was contained in the body of the Chosen, a revelation told to us by Saint Solaire, after the passing of the Chosen Undead."

"I see," the Argonian nodded, "So this 'Abyss', as you call it, is, in a way, the accumulated life energy of humans, but it's power is volatile, and must be tamed by the First Flame. Now, why is the Abyss awakening, and here in Tamriel of all places, I wonder…"

"I don't know," Annie sighed, "None of us do. But we _know _it's here, somewhere. Our best guess is that whatever force dissolved the barrier between your world and ours tore open the Abyss and unearthed a sliver of the Dark Soul. While it's too small to cause an immediate catastrophe, so long as souls and humanity are fed to the shard, it will grow, the Abyss spreading alongside it.

And since no-one in this land knows how to control souls, it will continue to expand exponentially until the entire world is consumed: all life corrupted and twisted into hideous, insane monsters, like Oolacile long ago.

We _must_ find the shard, and seal it. The Darksign has already spread as far as the land you call 'Atmora', and will likely infect Tamriel by the end of the year, so we haven't much time."

Edmund, and everyone else, felt sick to their stomach. The Dragons were a threat to the people of Skyrim, yes, but if this Outlander was telling the truth, if the Abyss was really that terrifying…

He shook his head. No, he refused to believe it!

"How do we know you're not lying!" He challenged, "This whole story seems a little too hard to believe, maybe you simply wish to invade us, and are using this 'Dark' as an excuse? Or maybe you're some form of pagan cult that devours souls, and you're here for ours now!"

"Did listen to anything I said?" Annie growled, her teeth gnashing, "Why would we _want_ this curse? Our lives were fine, until _you _opened the Abyss! Are you understanding me? The world will _die _if we do not undo _your _mistake!"

"See, it's no wonder you carry that mark on your neck, you savages believe you can just shout us into submission with your far flung tales and _lies!_" Annie slammed her fists down, jerking up and reaching for her warhammer,

"_You ignorant son of a-_" She froze, Edmund stopping when he realized Kaiah'lee was pointing his massive crossbow right at the imperial's head, the Argonian's shortsword turned backwards to slide over the undead's neck.

"Now, now kids…" he hissed, poised to strike if Edmund so much as breathed, Alvor not far behind, "Let's just take a few deep breaths, and sit back down, shall we?" Annie rigidly obeyed, going back to rest in her seat, while Edmund returned to a resting position, the lizard placing his arms back at rest,

"Now, from what I can gather: the humans don't want the undead in Skyrim destroying the place looking for the Dark Soul, but the undead don't want to let the Abyss destroy life as we know it. Call me crazy, but it would seem our goals aren't so different afterall: neither of us want to see the world get destroyed, and neither of us have the patience to sit down and figure out a solution," he spelled out, Edmund fuming over the lizard feeling the need to spell it out so slowly. He wasn't stupid.

"Now, here is what _I_ propose:" Kaiah'lee continued, motioning to the undead, "since you're out and about anyway, you have the freedom to enter one of the holds and talk to the big guy on the throne. Now, and I'm just throwing this out there, but why don't you tell the Jarl what you told me, and see if we can't get the two of yous working together: you can figure out how to solve this nasty little dragon problem while you try to find the Abyss, and we can try to find the Abyss while we figure out how to solve this nasty little dragon problem, Eh?"

All was a tense silence, until Annie somehow saw reason through her savage mind, nodding:

"It's worth a try, but I _doubt _any of you will actually help."

"Wonderful!" The reptile clapped, "See what you can do when you try to think on it a minute? Let's leave… uh… middayish tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? We've barely-"

"Tomorrow is fine," Annie snipped, turning to Alvor and trying her best to be polite, "I'll understand if you don't want to, but would you mind letting us sleep here for the night to recover our strength?"

"Take all the time you need," Alvor nodded sincerely, "I'll do whatever I can to aid you on your journey. I already owe you a great debt for helping my Hadvar, if any gesture will help Skyrim through these dark times, I will gladly lend you my strength."

"And I will travel back to Solitude," Hadvar offered, "and tell General Tullius what has transpired here, see if I can't convince him to open peace talks with the undead."

"It won't be easy," Annie mumbled, "We're constantly at war: with hollows, other undead looking to pillage our humanity, or simply the creatures of the dark. My people will be slow to trust you and fast to use violence. If you try to kill them, they will take you with them, of that I can guarantee." She growled, no doubt speaking as much for herself as her savage brethren, "Remember, you only die once, we don't."

"I will do what I can." Hadvar nodded, "May the gods have mercy on us all."

* * *

_There is a picturesque scene, flowers sway gently in the breeze, trees stand high, their leaves providing shade and comfort to any who stand beneath them-_

_The sun is shining above the mountains, all is well-_

_The Dark comes, it slowly seeps into everything it touches, spreading outward. It is neither good nor evil. _

_It has no sentience, hatred, frustration, or vendettas. It cannot be reasoned with, it cannot be stopped or healed-_

_It is the Dark, nevermore, neverless-_

_The wind stops blowing, the sounds of life in the world, the birdsong, getting lower and lower, until they can no longer be heard as the sun starts to fade from a gold to a grey through the miasma, the light pale as the moon and sullen as the midday sky turns to night-_

_The grass wilts, the trees begin to shift and twist into strange shapes, adapting to the Dark with leaves a dark violet with unearthly speckles of blue-_

_A deathly, deep cold settles on the land, the whoosh of falling stone filling now silent world as the mountains collapse, falling through the ground into the chasm below-_

_The world becomes flat save for the trees, their branches yearning up to the darkened sun for light to grow as the planes shift and turn-_

_The creatures begin to emerge in shapes indescribable and horrifying, the blackened bark and foliage they hid in frosting over in the cold-_

_The planet stands as desolate and forlorn as the surface of the moon, the dark creatures fleeing the chasms opening as the land reshapes into a net of islands over a void as deep and silent as a space without stars, the oceans of the world turning black and mirriorlike in the night unending-_

_Here, at the point where the world and the Abyss have become as one, Annie felt something inside her… writhing, the halberdier looking down upon her naked body and touching on her chest, where the Humanity within her was gorging on the power of the Dark Soul, its father._

_Annie moaned as she felt her body jerk involuntarily, the former undead trying to flee, yet her legs would not move as she looked down on herself, her skin turning a grey blue and reshaping, Annie clutching her eyes shut, only to see herself from the outside, her scarred form pulling and twisting, growing and shedding-_

_Her mouth opened to scream, but her voice was lost, her mind slowly losing one sense after the other, until she was suffocated, unfeeling, seeing, hearing, smelling, trapped in this hideous body as her soul withered and she felt the creatures pulling at her, making her one with them-_

The Halberdier's eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat. _Must not scream, _she thought to herself, taking it as a sign of weakness.

The nightmare had come to her time and again, broken only by dreams of hollowing, or watching the very, very few things she was foolish enough to love burn.

It was astonishingly hard for the undead to sleep, as they were not only in constant danger and isolation, the limits of their sanity getting pressed often, but dreams like these were common.

The reason this one was perhaps the most repetitive, though, was because it was the closest to becoming a reality: a world utterly erased so an alien, twisted one could take its place, this vision written in detail by a very famous undead, known to the founders of Vachst as Marvelous Chester, a mad but powerful warrior who witnessed the first rise of the Abyss alongside the Chosen Undead.

It was hard to conceive, but that fucking vision that invaded her sleep, left her body feeling violated upon waking, was a very real foretelling of what the world could look like a thousand years from now.

Annie may be just one undead, but she felt the weight of the world pressing down on her everyday. There was only one way to stop the Abyss: to absorb the Dark Soul into oneself to contain its power before it grew too great too control, something only an undead could do.

It could be anyone: Saint Solaire, General Tora, maybe even a nameless nobody. Maybe even her.

Forsaking the notion of resting peacefully, Annie leaned up from the animal skins lain on the floor for her to sleep on, pulling the spare fabric, now soaked in her sweat, up over her chest, noticing right away something was wrong.

She was too wrapped up in her thoughts to register what was going on in the world outside the basement where she slept, but now that she was leaning up, she could hear a sound coming through the floorboards upstairs, her combat senses already perking up.

She got up from her rest, the sleep barely restoring her strength as she grabbed her Warhammer and draped the fabric around herself, stomping upstairs and looking around, finding Sigrid and Dorthe were hiding in the comer while the others, who'd been camped upstairs, were gone, the door open-

Annie could hear it clearly now, the adrenaline shooting through her body and eradicating the last traces of her rest as she ran to the threshold and looked out, the fight raging in the streets as people screamed and ran about, the violent battle well underway-

* * *

Well this wasn't going well at all. Kaiah'lee drew a bead on yet another one of the raiders, taking the shot and sending the bolt through the night, the projectile striking him in the side of the head and sending him toppling.

He shot a few of the unarmored ones in the body, but it seemed to have no effect, their forms surging forward like machines until he started aiming for the head.

Unfortunately, as the prodigy swept to his bag, feeling out with his thumb, he found his pack was down to the last few bolts, which he opted to save, Kaiah'lee throwing Bertha over his shoulder and running from the island he'd taken point on, towards the invaders.

They hit hard and fast in the dead of night, Kaiah'lee noting the moon was near the 2:00am position, when everyone was fast asleep. At first, the prodigy thought they may be bandits looking for a few pickings when he caught the sound of conflict, but one glance at them when he got out the door and ventured further into the town said they were far from human:

Their emaciated, blue-grey skin was dull and lifeless in the moonlight, their hair and bushy beards stingy and scraggly, thinning out and dry as straw. Even their movement seemed decayed, their gait uneven and mechanical, their heads having to turn sharply whenever they wanted to observe their surroundings with their glowing blue eyes.

But, while Kaiah'lee could imagine overpowering their frail figures as he drew his blade, their tough armor of iron, so old and worn it'd turned a foggy black, held up to the blows of the people around them pretty well, their tough, archaic iron swords tearing through leather and wooden bucklers easily.

Even the lightly armored ones, with nothing but faded leathers and thin iron plates, seemed to have little trouble taking down the citizens pressing on them.

Whatever they were, the prodigy assumed he'd need to take them down quickly before they got a hit in edgewise, else he could wake up a few aches and pains in the morning.

He drew near the closest of them, his sword and rotting wooden shield locked with a citizen that'd armed themselves with a heavy dowel, which punched a hole through the ancient buckler, only to get trapped, the raider diving in with his sword and tearing into the citizen's unprotected heart, killing him instantly when he gave a hard twist. Well that one didn't make it…

The raider withdrew his tarnished sword, turning back to the prodigy, who stopped short, strafing and drawing a dagger into his free hand, observing the enemy's movement. The raider, whatever he was, put up his shield, drawing his sword back behind him and approaching with his shuffling gait, the prodigy raising his guard higher.

While clearly dead, this ancient warrior had a strong semblance of intelligence, which meant he could likely use that sword of his well enough. The corpse brought his shield back, sweeping his sword hard towards the prodigy's side, the Argonian crossing his blades and catching it, yelping as the crushing force drove the crossed blades to his chest and nearly knocked him off his feet.

The prodigy braced his foot to the ground and grunted as the stocky corpse let up a rough laugh, pressing forward, the prodigy's ankle letting up a fuss under the pressure-

The prodigy drew his dagger to the side, brushing the corpse off and stepping to the side, the soldier mirroring him and thrusting-

Kaiah'lee jumped diagonal, the blackened blade tearing across his side, the prodigy thankful for those last couple of inches, the prodigy putting a few more leaps between him and the corpse, who again growled and hobbled forward towards him.

Kaiah'lee felt a tremendous level of heat erupt in his wound, the blood coagulating as the flesh mended, the wound seething as it closed up, the Hist stealing a lot of his energy in return, the prodigy already panting with effort.

It seemed he'd grossly miscalculated the corpse's power: while his body was decayed and reluctant to move, his actual reflexes and combat instincts were incredible, his strength easily twice that of the normal human his size, and the zombie was pretty built as it was.

As the prodigy tried to figure a way to get at him with all his limbs attached, another came up from the other side.

"Two on one," he mumbled to himself, "fantastic." He got into position, only to see yet another notice them charging and come from the other side, the prodigy gritting his teeth, "Okay, now you're just rubbing it in."

Though he didn't like to use it, Kaiah'lee busted out his master, fool proof strategy:

"Hey, look over there!" he snapped, throwing a phosphorescent vial to the ground and sending up an explosion of smoke and light, the corpses blinking a moment, before spotting the flustered prodigy hauling tail towards the bridge to another Island, the corpses mustering their strength and heading after him, no doubt having the friends Kaiah'lee mighta kinda sorta shot in the face in mind.

* * *

Annie's greataxe, which she borrowed off the rack by the door, rammed another hollow, his armor absorbing part of the blow, though it didn't stop his body from getting knocked off his feet with the clang of metal, Annie bringing her fist around to smash another of them over the side of the face as he darted in.

The hollow was numb to pain, but was still knocked to the side, Annie kicking him in the stomach and knocking him back a step, her hands bracing another cleave of her axe, splitting his skull down the middle, the halberdier's attention brought to the hollow she knocked down, who was now back on his feet with a noticeable dent in his armor, his hand concentrating something in his palm as he ran forward with his axe-

She ran for the hollow as he thrust outward, a tight stream of frost flowing from his palm like a jet of icy water, the halberdier dodging to the side, only for his hand to shift to intercept her, the arcane mist spraying down her leg.

It was so cold it _burned_, Annie gritting her teeth as the leg went numb and buckled with hypothermic shock, her remaining leg holding her a moment before he dove in with his axe, Annie bracing head of her greataxe and blocking-

The tarnished blade struck the axehead with the force of a sledgehammer, the thing nearly breaking her hand as she was knocked off her feet, her numbed leg assaulting her with pain as she fell on the ground, his hand coming back and gathering frost over her prone form-

The hollow's head fell from his shoulders, the stream of ice getting choked off as the undead sat up and drew her Estus flask to sip from, the feeling returning to her limb in an intense burst as Edmund, his quaking sword now dripping with black, stagnant blood, retreated from the headless body as it twitched on the ground.

There was a grunt of shock from a hollow down the way as Alvor crushed a hollow's shield with one mighty blow, his nephew guarding his side from another with a greataxe.

Hadvar buckled under the enormous impact, though he shrugged it off and lunged for the neck, the hollow stepping around him and going for his side, Hadvar catching the hollow in a diving tackle before the blade could connect.

Hadvar and the hollow lay tangled a moment before Alvor knocked the hollow he was sparing with off his feet, stepping to Hadvar and crushing the struggling hollow's head with his warhammer, Annie catching the grounded hollow as he stood, the Halberdier, now with a weapon she was much more comfortable with, cleaving him in half at the waist before he could ready his sword, Annie taking advantage of the reach of her weapon.

She glanced around to Edmund, who tried to go for a Hollow's throat, only to get kicked in the side by the brutish woman, her lithe frame carrying enough power to knock him right from his feet, the figure going for the kill, only to get a bolt through the back of the head, Kylee emerging into the street-

Look alive, I brought company!" he shouted, their party, which had been guarding Alvor's home to the best of their ability, looking towards the lizard as three more hollows were brought in tow, Annie assuming he was unable to overpower them all at once.

Then, just as Annie marched on them with the other's at her back, the three paused, seeming to look around in confusion with their glowing eyes, before retreating back down the bridges towards the mountain across the river, the sounds of violence in the rest of the village dying in the distance as the hollows, somehow intelligent, withdrew as inexplicably as they came, leaving their exhausted, frightened numbers to stand in the road, the clothes they managed to throw on and weapons they managed to find soaked in the reeking hollows' blood.

While Annie's group escaped with few injuries, but they were far from alright, the warriors almost falling from their feet as everything you could name ached in protest at not only jumping awake so early, but having to fight these hollows, which seemed eerily stronger than a healthy undead despite their appearance, Annie resting on her axe as the door to the home came open:

"Papa!" Dorthe called, running up to Alvor and hugging his leg Sigrid just behind,

"Are you alright, dear!" She called, Alvor nodding absently as he dropped his hammer and knelt down to embrace his daughter, Annie feeling an ache in her heart at the sight as Alvor rested his head on his daughter's, assuring her everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn't, not even a little.

A healthy, loving family wasn't exactly common in Vachst…

"What was that?" Edmund snapped, looking about. There were no fires, so they hadn't been set on burning the town, and the halberdier somehow doubted they were interesting in stealing anything, "Why did _Draugr_ just attack us!" he barked, panicked and almost indignant, a death grip held on his filthy iron blade.

Their eyes were all drawn to the mountaintop, the moon peeking through the clouds enough to illuminate the grim Barrow high above, the unliving warriors no doubt returning to slumber in their tomb.

"I do not know." Alvor shook his head, rubbing his face a moment as the clouds swept in and out of the moonlight, "In all my years I have never heard of the Draugr leaving their crypts. They will defend them, yes, but to attack a town full of people, without reason…"

"Maybe they were stretching their legs a little?"

"Shut up, Kylee!"

"That wasn't a joke." He rasped back, uncharacteristically serious. Annie gave that premise a serious thought, realizing that in a bizarre way, it made sense: if these intelligent hollows, Draugr, had no motivation to attack but for fighting's sake, experience was about the only thing they had to gain.

"I don't understand," Hadvar frowned, noticing Dorthe and gulping, trying to look brave for her, "Why would Draugr of all things need to do such a thing?"

"I don't know," Kylee shrugged, "but whatever the reason, I don't think they're preparing to do anything good, they proved that much tonight."

"By Ysmir," Alvor mumbled, embracing his wife tightly, "What is becoming of our fair Skyrim?"

To Be Continued…

* * *

A/N: Yes this chapter was a bit of a slow one, mostly dialogue with a dash of action at the end, but I'm setting up for something big in the next few chapters.

I hope you love Draugr as much as I do, because you're going to be seeing more of them… :3


	5. The Dovahkiin Awakens

A/N: Before reading, try reading the second AN at the bottom first *possible spoilers, read at your own risk* :3

I love how Mirmulnir (yes, the dragon you pubstomp at the start does have a name, and his own Lore) turned out in the end, because rather than have the same generic dragon I said "Nope! This is Dark Souls bitch!" Everything from the concept to the execution was hell fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it.

And consider Mirmulnir a taste of what's to come, a lot of the "bosses" in Skyrim fell flat for many Souls players, including me, since they scale down to your level and lack special powers to give the fight a very memorable quality, even Alduin was a little bland and he's the main antagonist! So I'm doing my best to give them the terrifying, badass, memorable factor they deserve, mostly by making them much closer to how the lore describes them.

And to pre-emptively dispel any claim jumps of ZOMGEEZUS EDMUNDZ A MERY SUE NOW YEH FUCKA RAGAGAGAGA! I feel makes since because of the forces in play, and will emulate the dragonborn's in-game ability to regenerate his health, stamina, and magika spontaneously, only now it will get an explanation.

He'll get cokcy about it for a bit, but the world is by no means his bitch like he thinks it will be ;3

* * *

The next morning was deceptively quiet, Edmund emerging into the morning light and gazing around, the forest swaying in the breeze as the sun shone over the mountains, though he was so sleepy he had to squint around him and yawn every so often just to keep moving alongside others.

Alvor had told them Hadvar left before them at the crack of dawn, bound for the city of Solitude, the main living space for the imperials living in Skyrim, where Edmund _would _be if it hadn't been for all these unforeseen hold ups

He barely rested that night: every sound sending him bolting upright, his heart throbbing, expecting another Draugr to break in through the door or dragon to sweep overhead, though it seemed the biggest threat to him was losing a few night's sleep.

He'd fought more than any decent man needed to in the past day, and staying with the trio would only invite more violence to him, but at the same time, some part of him wanted to stay with them, felt he _needed _to stay with them.

He wanted a new life, afterall, since he felt his only real feature was his astonishing lack of features, and with so much happening in the world, it seemed irresponsible for him to just leave the fate of the world, the future of his people, in the hands of… them.

Yes, he was a little inexperienced now, but there was nothing that said he couldn't get better, there were only so many ways to swing a sword, afterall.

"May your journey to Whiterun be safe," Alvor called, the trio, now full and as rested as one could be after last night, disembarking for the hold capitol.

It seemed the nine were with them afterall, as their trip along the lush riverside was free of bandits, dragons, or any other unpleasantries. After a few hour's walk through the valley, the landscape opened up into a great plain, yet another view drawing them in:

The landscape, unlike the forest valley they just stepped from, was flat and plain, the grasses rolling like a green sea over the land as far as the eye could see with many farms and windmills dotting the land, their crops great swaths of gold around the hold, though most of the land was untamed, the mountains looming in the distance beyond rolling prairies and wild grasses, one in particular drawing their attention:

Even the high mountains around the trio were mere pebbles compared to this monumental landmark, the peak so high it seemed to brush the clouds above, its shadow so long it seemed to take a bite out of the entire plain. The Throat of the World, the highest mountain in all of Tamriel.

Even the rumors didn't prepare Edmund as the trio continued on, gazing around at the sights while working their way down the rough path as it slithered down the slope in a serpentine pattern, reaching the bottom and heading down towards Whiterun, past the farms and over a few rivers, some locals casting their lines to fish.

The hold capitol itself was worthy of its title as the central trading hub of the province: sweeping up a massive hill, more of a soft mountain with some trees spaced around the buildings. A great defensive wall erected high enough to stop the march of giants at the base, and at the peak of this tall city stood a great wooden palace Edmund could see from miles away, the idea of going in to meet the Jarl of the hold filling him with excitement, even if the news was a little grim.

It made him a little nervous as they went down the way, a few of the city guards in their matching yellow armor looking at them a moment before dismissing them as a threat and continuing their patrols.

What _would _Edmund say to the Jarl? They weren't even dressed for the occasion!

But, it seemed fate would not have their journey entirely without incident-

**Urrrr! Ayarg Garag Gar! **A great, guttural voice growled, the trio rounding the corner of a farmhouse to investigate, stopping as a colossal force blew a hole in the dirt, an armored man narrowly avoiding getting flattened by the figure. Edmund gasped, his iron sword feeling like a toothpick as he looked on the giant, the _literal _giant, twice their height at least.

He had pale, thick skin the color of stone, his hair very dark with a touch of ashy grey, the locks woven with tribal beads and wildly ruffled and unkempt. He had long arms, long legs, and giant hands, his chest etched with scars in the shape of tribal swirls and symbols, his clothes limited to a loin cloth of furs and animal bones.

One of the three knights sparing with him lashed out with a sword, nicking the side of his leg and shouting:

"Go away! Be gone with you!" yelping as the giant swept around with his club- the crudely cut limb of a great tree topped with a boulder- the primal weapon whooshing through the air as the warrior tried to block, her shield exploding and sending her rolling end over end.

His other leg was struck by a sturdy greatsword, the blow too shallow to hurt him as the giant raised his foot and nearly stomped the fleeing warrior, the giant's torso getting hit with an arrow, the colossus grunting as he pried out it with a couple of his fingers and bellowed at the archer, who raised her bow over her head and let up a shout of her own, waving her hunting bow at him and charging.

The giant gazed down on her slender figure a moment, before he actually starting backing off, the one with the axe flanking him from the other side and waving at him, making noise.

The giant backed off a ways, the warriors watching him turn about and passively wander back towards the plains, slinging his club over his shoulder.

"Farkas, go check on Ria." The archer snapped, the giant of a man wandering up to the prone warrior, an imperial like Edmund, with scaled armor, a gleaming steel sword, and the shattered remains of a shield. Ria leaned up, only to clutch her shield arm and cry out in agony, the warrior squeezing on the limb and prompting her to cry out again, the big guy looking back over his shoulder at the archer,

"She'll live," he mumbled in his deep, rough voice, "but the bone is broken pretty bad, and the shoulder looks a bit cockeyed."

"Get her to Arcadia's as soon as you can, and try not to jostle her too much, and Ria!" the archer, a younger, slender woman with fiery red hair, snapped, "What did I tell you about gauging an enemy's strength before trying to block, another few inches higher and he would've taken your head right off!"

"I'm… sorry." Ria sobbed, trying to bite back her tears as Farkas lifted her from the ground and slung her over his shoulder, the giant man mumbling:

"Don't worry about it, we'll get you fixed up soon" As he wondered towards the crumbling defensive battlements of the historical Whiterun,

"You!" Edmund, and the other two's, attention was brought to the archer, who was stomping towards them indignantly, Edmund feeling a little creeped out by her overall feral appearance: the red hair paired with the green slash marks over her face, plus her eyes: a burnished gold with dark sockets.

But, her mystique was paled by her attitude: she was, for lack of a better word, a bitch.

"Why didn't you help us?" Edmund didn't know what to say, the confrontation halting his thoughts, Annie looking ready to say something before she was interrupted by the lizard:

"Oh, I'm Sorry, it just seemed the fight was pretty much over by the time we got here. It's hard to help when your pretty little behind drove him off so quickly." _Why, why would you say that!? _Edmund screamed inwardly, Annie looking mortified as well. But, somehow the archer actually snickered at that:

"I'm not sure if you're brave, or just really stupid to say something like that to me."

"And who are you to _not _have me allude to your backside?" Kaiah'lee jabbed again, having way too much fun getting them in trouble:

"I am Aela, The Huntress," she nodded, "Since you couldn't tell, I'm a Companion."

"A Companion, as in the Companion's?" Edmund exclaimed, Annie of course oblivious to what this meant:

"Is that some sort of group?"

"Some sort of group?" Edmund scoffed, "They're the most revered fighter's guild in Tamriel, founded by Ysgramor, who lead the first Nords in battle in the founding of Skyrim and the rest of the continent!"

"Well, I'm glad someone's done their reading, but you still haven't answered my question."

"But he just…"

"That was _his _reason," Aela snapped, "Speak for yourself, imperial. Why did you ignore helping us?"

"Um…" Edmund choked, Annie stepping in and giving her reason instead,

"You seemed very capable on your own. I didn't wish to get in your way, since it was the middle of the fight."

"Would you have intervened if we _weren't _capable in your eyes?" Annie was stoic, but unspeaking, her piecing blue eyes gazing in thought:

"That would depend on the situation."

"Hmm… That's an interesting way to put it, but would it be to choose your battles wisely… or keep yourself safe while other's suffer in your place?" Aela then turned on Edmund before he could remark that of course an Outlander would throw others to the wolves if it meant saving themselves,

"That leaves you, what's your reason?" She left him no time to think, the imperial griting his teeth at being so exposed,

"Well… I just didn't have time to think of it."

"You didn't have time?" Aela growled, "So you can fight, but when you feel like it suits you, is that what you're saying?"

"No!" Edmund spat indignantly, "You're twisting my words around, I didn't say anything like that!"

"Hmm." Aela thought, smirking at the two others, observing their shining weapons and sturdy armor, the lizard still ogling her skimpy, traditional leather outfit, while Annie just stared absently, caught up in something inside herself, before frowning at Edmund in his reasonable clothes and firm posture, keeping himself composed for the great Companion.

"I don't know what it is about you two, but if you feel prepared, speak to Kodlak, he will judge your worthiness to join the Companions. We're always searching for young blood that can hold their own." She started away, Annie bowing her head quietly:

"Thank you for the invitation, Huntress."

"Bye, stay fresh for me darling!" The lizard waved,

"What two?" Edmund called, aching to know, "What two were you referring to!" Aela just ignored them, heading back for Whiterun with the other Companions. Annie and Kaiah'lee went off towards the gates themselves, Edmund trailing behind, assessing the two.

She couldn't possibly be referring to the two of them: he was the only clearheaded, reasonable one in the group! He was inexperienced with a blade, yes, but come now, his responses were appropriate and simple while the other two's were garbled nonsense, this was completely unjustified!

But, it seemed too late to do anything about it as they stepped through the outer wall, heading through the crumbling ramparts to the city's inner wall, where they could enter through the gate and deliver the grim news.

* * *

"Halt!" the guards shouted as soon as the trio drew near, "The city's closed while the incident at Helgen is being investigated, state your business."

"We bear news from Helgen," Annie stated, twitching her fingers in anticipation for a fight, as she did most of the time, "It's very important we tell the Jarl what has happened."

"News from Helgen?" One of the guards mumbled, looking to the other sentry a moment, before turning back to address the group: "What do you know of Helgen?"

"The entire city burned." Annie growled, "There's nothing left." That managed to get through the Nord's thick skulls,

"How do you know such a thing?"

"We were there," Edmund added, noticeably shaken at being bothered to remember, "Saw the whole thing. The three of us, an imperial soldier named Hadvar, and some stormcloaks were the only ones that made it out."

"Hmm…" The guards still seemed hesitant to let them pass, but eventually yielded, the guard going to the gate and using his large iron key to pop the lock, "I don't like it, but if Helgen is truly lost, the Jarl must know what has transpired." At least they were too stupid to realize Annie was an Outlander, else there'd be no way to get in, the trio heading through the door, traversing the lively town.

Annie felt like she had frostbite spiders crawling around in her skin as the sea of faces rolled past her, her eyes trying to find a place where nothing was happening and finding none, seeing everything from beggars in rough clothes begging for some spare "septims" to drink, to woodcutters in the shade of the trees chopping logs to burn, even a female blacksmith, a rare sight, pounding on an anvil, a man dressed in the rouge-hemmed armor of the imperials dogging her about making armor for the war.

"Do you get to the cloud district very often?" A dark skinned man mocked, scrutinizing her rough shape, "Oh what am I saying, of course you don't." _Asshole…_

They stepped through a market district, the locals calling it the wind district, the trio turning and going up several flights of stairs up the mountainside. Annie's assumption the town was a wall built around a hill with some buildings upon it seemed very narrow now that she had a good look: Whiterun was actually a set of terraces up solid rock, soil and plants put upon it over time, the stairs etched into the stone leading them up the old mountain slope.

It seemed this town, with established wooden buildings with solid walls, it's sturdy porcelain shingles heating up in the afternoon sun, was actually a lot older than she gave it credit for, the undead subconsciously comparing the lively rise with her hometown in Vachst, now none but a distant memory from the four year voyage to reach Tamriel, and the events that distanced her from her life at home.

This place was so much more archaic and alive, as it'd lived for so much longer than the fatherland. The Burg, a neighboring remnant of Lordran, had to be all but demolished and rebuilt, while Anor Londo became the home and government building for the greatest of the land's lords, saints, and warriors: Heaven on this cursed earth, forbidden to most, while Vachst was a new kingdom, separate from the Burg as a fresh start.

A new kingdom that was promptly, near completely overtaken by the Darksign.

If Vachst survived long enough, is this pleasant, lovely village the kind of place it would become?

For some reason, the thought made Annie sickeningly pissed off as they hit the top of the stairs, the incredible palace they saw on their approach looming into the air upon a great terrace of stone, waterfalls flanking the stairs and flowing towards a shrine at the center of the land:

The ducts flowed under the four trellised bridges around an island: the whole thing a shrine to this great tree with violet leaves. Beyond the tree was a colossal statue depicting a great knight plunging his blade into a serpent, a priest in rough robes preaching about Talos at his feet.

It seemed the whole plane was dedicated to only the most sacred and important of monuments and residences, this image further solidified by a stone eagle overlooking the district, it's wings great enough to envelop a dragon, the light of a forge cast from beneath.

When they were done admiring the cloud district, they came up the last set of stairs to the peak, the Jarl's palace.

* * *

Dragonsreach, as the undead heard the place called, was every bit as grand as you would expect a great Nord palace to be: The area was bright, with numerous windows along the top to allow great flows of light from outside. A maid humbly sweeping the floor called to Annie as she passed:

"Now don't go thinking you're all high and mighty, now," She scolded, "The only one to respect here is the Jarl!" The Halberdier gave her a dismissive nod and continued on.

There seemed to be numerous servants around: two maids, guards around the area, some people walking on the balcony on the second floor, the noise drawing her attention to the great, pitched roof above, various animal heads mounted for visitors to see, Annie turning back to climb a few stairs, putting her in the main area of the grand hall:

There was a great open space dominated by two tremendous long tables with silver goblets of wine and platters of food set down the entire length, the space enough for a hundred people a table, though it seemed only a few were worthy of occupying the building, no more than ten people spaced here and there eating or chatting.

Seeing all that fine food put the halberdier in the mood for another feast, since an undead burned an extraordinary amount of energy as they matured, but Annie knew better than to sit with them and make herself comfortable.

She wasn't a guest in this house, she wasn't even a guest on this _continent_, she just needed to pay attention to the Jarl upon his throne, an extravagantly dressed, middle aged man with a gold and ruby circlet, who was now leaning forward in his chair as a balding, middle aged man in a fine blue surcoat advised him about the civil war, apparently between the Stormcloaks and Imperials:

"… If Helgen has fallen to the stormcloaks, who will be next?" he insisted, "As I speak, Ulfric is amassing his forces, if we do not choose a side in this war, Whiterun will not be strong enough to hold off a full assault-"

"Enough!" The Jarl snapped, "Whiterun will have nothing to do with this war while I have a say in the matter, our city is divided enough without inviting conflict with the stormcloaks _or_ the imperials, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid Ulfric may not be as forgiving, his armies seize whatever he pleases, and he's had his eye on Whiterun for quite some time."

"Whiterun is a peaceful city, I see no reason to change that."

"Halt!" Someone commanded for what seemed like the hundredth time as they drew near the throne, Annie bearing her canines at the elf before her, the undead noticing her pointed ears and dark, grey skin with a light violet hue, "What business do you have with the Jarl?"

"Well, since you asked politely-" Annie elbowed the lizard in the side before he could fuck anything up,

"We bring news from Helgen, it is very important we speak to the Jarl as soon as we can." The Dark Elf was unyielding, looking like she'd sooner skewer them with her long, narrow elven blade than let them speak to the Jarl not more than twenty feet away.

"News from Helgen? How would you know what has happened, you could be the one who attacked it for all I know."

"You might want to listen to what she has to say," Kylee remarked, "I understand you must take your job very seriously, but your Jarl will be more than a little displeased if he has to find out what happened later than sooner."

"Irileth," The Jarl called, his steward glancing at him, "Let them come." The dark elf reluctantly stepped aside, the trio advancing on the throne while the guardian continued to glare at Annie's battle-scarred face and frayed hair, as if the undead could be judged to death. The Jarl introduced himself:

"I am Jarl Balgruuf, the greater, lord of this hold," he introduced, "Every day the courier delivers news from here to Helgen, yet he did not come back today, or yesterday." He shifted uncomfortably, "There are rumors about what has happened there… Tell me what has become of Helgen, if you may." Annie looked to the lizard, finding he had nothing to say, and Edmund was the stupidest of his stupid race so he could provide any input.

It was up to the Undead to convince the _Jarl_ of what was happening, the rough halberdier taking a breath, then two, somehow unable to speak. Finally, she just closed her eyes, and let the words come:

"You won't believe me. It won't matter what I say, it's too much for any good, sane man to believe," The Jarl raised an eyebrow, "But, you have to trust me no matter what I say, you must be willing to listen, because you may be the only one who can help." Balgruuf put a hand on his cheek, contemplating:

"Continue."

* * *

The room was dead silent, the Jarl noticeably trying hard to contain a mix of disgust and amusement:

"That's quite a tale, I must say," He commented without humor, Irileth ready to slit the undead's throat any moment, "You would make an excellent Bard, but such stories are best told in the _street_ to _paying citizens_, not to the lord of a city who has very real concerns, _Outlander._"

The dark elf stepped to Annie, Edmund exclaiming indignantly as the guard's grabbed him, ready to escort the lot of them out, when Annie did the only thing she could think of, pulling her hair aside:

The Darksign felt more hideous than ever, the guards and Irileth retreating from Annie as though she were plagued as the necrotic mark gently radiated its wisps of fiery light.

Balgruuf only stared, turning ghostly white as he leaned up, the undead not even bothering to cover the mark again as her ice blue eyes glowered at the "ruler":

"By Ysmir…" The Jarl exclaimed to himself, "What is that?"

"The Darksign," Annie muttered, "I told you I was undead, didn't I?"

"Now wait just a moment," The steward chimed desperately, "That proves nothing, it could be an illusion or alchamental-"

"Proventus!" Balgruuf snapped, the steward backing off, "I am trying to concentrate." As humiliating as it was, Annie felt the Jarl's meaty head was finally splayed open, allowing him to entertain the notion the past hour or two of her explanation wasn't a waste.

The silence drug on, Irileth still looking ready to take them apart with her fancy blade, until Balgruuf made another call:

"I'm not prepared to believe the dragons have returned, nor am I ready to believe in this 'Abyss', however," he added, "I now believe this 'curse of the undead' may be real." He gave her the look,_ the_ look, Annie's hand slowly going to her halberd, "you'll understand if I must-"

"Jarl!" Someone called, distracting Balgruuf from his mindless persecuting, "The last patrol hasn't reported back yet, and we see smoke rising from the Western Watchtower!" the guards who'd assembled said, Balgruuf sighing,

"We can only assume the worst, for now, Irileth!" he called, his dark bitch at his side, "Take a garrison of our guards to the watchtower, and see what's wrong, it may be the same undead who razed Helgen. And," he added, looking right at the trio, "Take those three with you, I'm sure they'll know a 'dragon' when they see it."

* * *

It felt like sound was becoming harder and harder to find, because once again Edmund found himself in unbearable silence. The only thing to distract Edmund from the sight ahead of him was the sound of his feet wading through grass, wildflowers rustling and cracking in the cold, dank air.

The garrison sent with them decided to cross the open fields for the sake of moving more efficiently, rather than lining all down the road and missing the ones that invaded the watchtower.

They may have been afraid they'd find nothing, but Edmund felt there was a strong danger ahead of them as real as the grasses brushing against him, sending shivers up his body as he kept a white-knuckled grip on his blade, his eyes to the sky.

In the distance was a large trail of smoke billowing into the air: standing against the dark violet clouds on the far horizon that were gradually blotting out the midday light, a few shafts filtering through rain curtains in the distance, a grey fog before the mountains with the occasional flash of lightning giving away the distant storm.

It was about as ominous a sign as the imperial could conceive as he wiped the sweat from his brow, the distant grey column at the base of the smoke slowly getting larger and larger, until the prairie's grasses begun to thin, large, black splotches in the earth radiating from where the violence took place, until at last the imperial could make out the details.

It was plain tower of flagstone, what looked to be a wall circling it to help keep invaders out, with a long path to take news to the Jarl should any invaders be sighted on the open landscape, giving them time to sound the alarm. Now, the top of the tower had a large chunk blown out of it, the wall collapsed with the twisted and charred remains of many, many soldiers.

He'd seen that kind of burning once before, the flowing, aggressive char marks distinguishing it from any fire man could create, Edmund approaching Irileth at the head of the group:

"You, Elf!" he called, the dark elf turning as the enraged soldiers begun to run about, examining the fallen and searching for signs of the attacker, though there was no sign of any army around them, "I think we should go." Irileth ignored him, continuing forward to the ruined watchtower,

"Calm yourself, imperial, and remember, no sudden movements." Edmund huffed, realizing he'd sooner reason with a Snow Leopard than a dark elf, her beady eyes sweeping around, until she ran up into the tower itself, the trio following,

"Is that you Hroki? Tor!" someone shouted madly, Irilith running in on the last few soldier curled up in the tower for protection, Irileth kneeling down,

"Calm yourself, what happened here?" he guard cocked his ear towards a near indistinguishable sound, the guard, whose arm was nearly burnt off, panicking:

"Oh Gods! It's coming back, _no!_" The sound came again, Edmund's mind flashing when he realized that while it was different, he knew what it was, the trio running out as the soldiers ran and drew their bows on a shape swooping around the tower, Edmund watching it pass overhead and nearly going catatonic himself:

The dragon roared, it's voice deeper and louder than some of the other dragons, as it was very large, maybe 50 feet from tail to nose, its pale, greyish scales like dirtied snow ragged at the edges and covered with battlescars from its long, violent life, one of its horns broken off near the center with many scars over his foggy left eye, marking his partial blindness.

Edmund felt his heart stop, realizing that unlike the day prior, where he had to run from the demons before him, they had to _fight _this thing, this ancient, colossal thing that shook the earth as he plowed into the ground, looking about with his piecing right eye and watching the soldiers approach him with their bows, if they had them, and swords-

"_Humans are such good sport-_" The dragon himself mocked in his aged, slow tone, a growl echoing deep in his chest that may have been laughter as the volleys of iron arrows flew towards him, the scarred dragon's head turning his good eye away as the iron arrows broke across the pale dragon's hide, leaving miniscule scratches across his ragged scales, but coming nowhere close to piecing through.

Edmund, frozen in place, heard a deep whoosh of air, the dragon turning his head back towards the soldiers running on him with waves of heat erupting from his teeth-

Before the soldier's had time to retreat, the scarred dragon unleashed his flames, the azure blue fires erupting from his maw in a thin five pronged stream, which wove back together in helix of fire, the focused, intense beam drilling into the ground and evaporating the puny soldiers before him, his head sweeping the stream upwards to catch the fleeing soldiers and reflect some arrows, the vortex thinning and extinguishing, leaving a great vale of fire and ash that were once fine grasses.

The dragon brought his head back and roared, lumbering forward on his long, scaly legs, his jagged claws upturning the earth.

A firm impact struck the back of Edmund's head, the man nearly jumping from his flesh, reeling around and seeing the undead shaking him by the shoulders. Though Annie, the great undead warrior that was _so_ strong, was actually paled and quivering alongside Irileth, she actually barked:

"Come on, we have to move!"

"That dragon will wipe out Whiterun and the brunt of our guards if we don't kill it here soon!" Irileth shouted, "We must vanquish him."

"It's impossible." Edmund muttered, his whole body shaking, "We wouldn't get more than two feet before he burnt us all alive."

"I love to be the optimist of the group, but that scaly critter is a little past us." Kaiah'lee added, his jolly tone more forced than usual, "We don't stand a chance in all Oblivion rushing him head on: That dragonfire _will_ burn us alive, but also our weapons are nowhere near strong enough to piece armor that thick, it's like trying to drill a hole through a cinderblock with your bare thumb."

"Maybe not," Annie said, "Vachst is filled with all kinds of creatures, including drakes. They're not as strong or large as dragons, but the premise is the same, and there are records of how to slay a dragon we are all taught."

"Share with the class, please!"

"Lightning," she stuttered, in a panic to think as fast as possible with the dragon lumbering about, crushing all before it, "Dragon scales are vulnerable to lightning, it can peel them apart and cause them a lot of pain, that dragon out there is also very old: big and strong, but slow and easily exhausted, if we can get close to him and move fast, we may be able to outmaneuver him and wear him down, as long as we can keep him grounded."

"That's all fine and dandy," Edmund snapped, "But we don't have any lightning, where do you plan to get some!"

"I do." Irileth said, the trio turning to her, "I have magic, including lightning. I don't believe… I will use it to try and open a gap, if that is what you say it can do. But we need to get close to him first, slow or not, he will see us coming."

"Not necessarily," Edmund said, "He's blind in his left eye: the right side, we can… maybe we can distract him while Irileth and a few other's close in on his blindspot?" For once, they didn't say he was stupid, the quartet nodding, praying they could somehow make this insane situation that made Edmund feel faint just considering it actually work, and slay a dragon, _a dragon!_

"But who will distract him?" Irileth looked to them distrustfully, "They'd be right in the line of fire, you'd have to be completely insane to…" they all turned to Kaiah'lee, already drawing his last few bolts and dipping them in some form of viscous black liquid.

"Don't even have to say It, do I?" He smirked, "He's to not getting vaporized, let's go."

* * *

The lizard was the first to run out, whistling at the dragon while strafing around to the side of the tower,

"Hey, come and get some you dumb scaly brute!" He bellowed, the scarred dragon turning towards him, Kaiah'lee taking aim and shooting right for his good eye.

The dragon merely shifted his head to the side, the poisoned bolt reflecting from his forehead, the beast striding forward towards the lizard, who turned and ran for it as the scarred dragon charged up his flames, the azure vortex blowing over the prairies.

His dragonflame, over the millennia, had become focused and extremely refined, but weakened as well, the Argonian jumping behind the tower just ahead of the fire with barely a char on his murky scales, working himself around the tower as the guards spread out and continued firing on the old dragon, hoping to damage him even a little.

The one-eyed dragon came forward, his flank facing the army as he strafed wide of the tower as not to block limited his view, his feet making a great crunch and crack on the ground as his bad eye exposed.

Irilith, Annie, and Edmund saw their chance, running as fast as their legs would carry them, Edmund running on pure adrenaline and focus as he concentrated on the dragon's face, the other two ready to strafe around the beast when he turned his head to face the soldiers.

The scarred dragon turned, pitching his good eye forward to target the soldiers for his dragonflame as their numbers erratically moved to keep him distracted, the trio swinging wide and coming in on him from the flank.

By the fortune of all the divines, even as the dragon came forward to put the garrison in range, he did not turn towards the trio as the distance lowered, and lowered, and lowered-

Edmund saw the dragon's dark, foggy eye right above them as they came on his side, but the dragon was blind to them! But, the imperial couldn't celebrate yet, as the worst was yet to come-

Irileth pressed her hand to her heart, the arcane flying from her core and condensing into intense lightning, the dark elf thrusting her palm outward and sending bolts racking down the dragon's side, the creature actually grunting as the lightning seared over his scales, Edmund seeing the lightning soaking in-

The beast swept around, his feet clumsily bringing him about, Irileth and Annie crouching to follow Edmund under his stomach, watching his long body shift above them, until he turned his good eye all the way to that side, the three springing out on the opposite side to catch him off guard again-

Irileth actually let up a battle shout as she emptied her lightning into another blinding arc, pressing it into the scales as Annie grasped her axe by the wooden shaft and put all her undead strength into ramming the side, the axe absorbing some lightning as the steel crashed down.

The dragon let up a bellow of actual pain, Edmund watching in astonishment as the scarred, ragged grey scales _shifted_- steam and smoke hissing out from under the armor, where the sensitive skin was burning up.

It was working-

The trio took an instant too long to celebrate as the dragon's legs buckled and wings raised, the dragon grunting as it thrust his wings down and leapt to the side, the pressure blowing Edmund's ears out and leaving him feeling like he was thrown from a cliff, the dragon crashing down a bit away from them, bringing his head around and focusing his blue flame-

"Run!" Irilith screamed as it erupted, the flame choking when something hit the creature in its giant bad eye, the poisoned bolt digging in. The dragon roared so loud Edmund's, and everyone else's, eyes squeezed shut, the imperial's blood resonating inside him as if he was struck by the biggest thunderclap multiplied by a hundred times, it's pressure feeling like wind blowing over him.

The angered dragon, a force of nature, stopped shouting, Edmund watching as his head flailed back and forth while it groaned and growled, the skin on his bad eye hissing. The pale orb was blind but could still feel, that fantastic Argonian bastard shouting:

"That's about the worst I can do! Get em' before the poison wears off!" the other soldiers, rallied by the two fighting the great beast, stormed forward with a thunderous battlecry, the trio running for his weakened flank, Irileth's magical sparks seeming a little smaller than before, Edmund's heart pounding in his chest as he felt the oxygen to his head getting choked.

They were exhausting their arsenals faster than the dragon was exhausting his health, if they didn't put him down for good soon, they would tire and be in serious trouble…

The poisoned dragon ducked his head down, reaching to his bad eye and using his claws to tear the bolt out, his scaly eyelid squinting shut as blood poured down, his good eye locking on the three of them.

Edmund could literally _feel_ the scarred dragon's rage as he shouted again, charging them, the imperial knowing the dragon would be at his strongest in this furious state.

They expected his flames, but instead the dragon stopped short, planting his feet in and throwing his weight to the side, his long, thick tail whooshing through the air at it swung for them, the trio diving to the ground and ducking as the massive tail missed, blowing the grass over them, only for Edmund to see the shadow, looking up as the dragon finished turning back towards their prone forms-

"_Run!_" he screamed, the three scrambling forward as fast as they could as the dragon locked on them and spewed his vortex of flame, the three running to the side as fast as they could, Edmund feeling the narrow, intense flames lapping at his scarred back as they tried to move faster than the dragon could swing his head, the dragon's heavy feet working to bring him to the side, only for the smaller shapes to outmaneuver him barely, the scarred dragon's flames fading as Irileth's lightning went for his front leg, Annie smashing down on his weakened side with her axe once again, her battlecry driving her steel axe through-

The scales tore away under the force of the axe, leaving his soft, pale skin exposed, blood pouring as the membrane holding the scales tore like paper.

Edmund, seeing a chance to actually fight, drove his iron sword into the soft flesh, stabbing it to the hilt, the scarred dragon reeling, staggering as Irileth's elven blade drove into his leg, where the scales separated from her lightning.

The bad leg lifted from the ground, Irilith drawing her sword out and preparing to stab again, when the dragon's wings boomed, lifting his front half from the ground, the gap in his scales getting peppered by arrows as he blindly drove his foot down upon the dark elf, the ground exploding next to her as she rolled to her feet, the dragon's scarred body turning and drawing his tail up, scattering the three of them as he smashed it down, nearly flattening them.

The dragon, blood spewing from his hurt leg, once again launched himself from the ground and leapt away, putting some distance between him and the soldiers. The poison on the bolt, whatever it was, had faded, his only sources of pain the arrows and gashes in his side and the wound on his leg.

Painful even to a dragon, but not enough to put him down, the dragon gazing at the humans as they tried to rally, before hunkering down and launching himself into the air, his great wings beating more and more, until he tucked himself forward, flying.

Edmund realized as the dragon came around, lunging upon them in a great swoop, that there was no way to hit him, his flight slow and cumbersome, but still too great to effectively hit him.

The imperial ran as the dragon swooped down and unleashed his flame helix, a row of fleeing soldiers burning up as their arrows, most of which missed, peppered the leather of his wings and the gash in his side, doing little more than anger the dragon further.

Edmund looked around in defeat, seeing that Whiterun's peacekeepers, a garrison of 200 soldiers from the hold's army, were getting wiped out a fifteen at a time under the dragon's rain of fire. By the time they took him down with their arrows, or the loss of blood tired him, there would be no-one left.

How could his sane mind for even a moment believe that he, a mere imperial, not even an undead, or master fighter, or anything, could stop a dragon for even a moment?

The imperial, his fatigue catching up with him, looked over at the dark elf nearby, vainly launching lightning bolts into the sky, until the scarred dragon spotted her on the ground: the one that hit him with that lightning. He started coming down for her, opening his maw, but no flame came out-

"Run!" Edmund shouted, Irileth shooting him with lightning bolt after lightning bolt, but nothing seemed to stop the dragon, the imperial running for her as she embraced her fate fighting to save her Jarl as the scarred dragon swept towards her, his head cocking to the side-

Edmund rammed her- he did not know why, he did not understand why- but at that moment he pushed Irileth aside as she drew her sword, his side getting hit with a force greater than he knew could exist.

The imperial felt swords of ivory driving into his stomach and back, Edmund crying out as the eye-eyed dragon bit down on him, nearly putting into shock with the near instant change in speed, the imperial feeling the wind blowing over him, the feeling of falling churning in him as the ground below shrunk and blurred, the imperial airborne in the dragon's maw as he circled the tower.

Edmund puked blood, looking over to his side, down the snout of the dragon into his good eye, which was now gazing back at the imperial with confusion, seeing this wasn't the mortal he intended to snatch.

The dragon's eye narrowed, still recognizing the one that wounded him and wanting blood. Literal blood.

The dragon threw his head back to pull Edmund into his throat, the imperial putting his arms out and falling to the back of his mouth, still half out as the scarred dragon's jaws clamped down on Edmund again, the imperial's legs getting pulled at by the dragon's moist throat, his great tongue working to dislodge the imperial as Edmund braced his arms against the dragon's snout to keep from going in.

Edmund was weakening fast, blood pouring from his wounds as the dragon's saw-like teeth worked at the base of Edmund's chest, his tongue happily lapping up the blood, the imperial seeing the murder in his eye as he enjoyed the prolonged death of his enemy.

At the back of his fading conscience, the imperial remembered something, his finger twitching on the hard wooden hilt of his sword, the iron blade braced on the dragon's snout. Edmund mechanically pulled the blade off the Dragon's snout, angling the tip towards the dragon's eye, which was now more than close enough-

The gold orb shot open, realizing too late as Edmund hacking forward, the tip driving in and spilling the dragon's blood as the ball ruptured, the imperial's fleshy tomb shaking as the blind dragon roared in pain, starting to fall as he spread his wings and put out his legs, crash landing.

Though Edmund's senses were fading, the dragon's blood dripping on his face actually made him feel- stronger, he knew not why but somehow he stayed awake as a feeling of falling unlike any that could be expressed overtook the imperial, the wind falling across him and the dragon, until the ground ballooned up on the two and the dragon's feet tore into the ground, the great dragon's weight driving a great trench through the prairies as he skidded to a stop.

Edmund felt the dragon's jaw open in a sigh, the imperial drawing himself off the teeth embedded in him and dropping into a mound of dirt.

As he lay on the ground on all fours, panting for all he had as black spots danced over his vision, clouding him, he looked down to his stomach, seeing all the skin across his midsection was shredded beyond repair, his blood pouring from his mouth and wounds, a great hiss filling the air as the scarred dragon, unmoving, lost strength-

Edmund felt something, like a breath of hot air or mist enveloping him, leeching into his wounds and body, the imperial leaning up and gazing to the dying dragon, whose very lifeforce seemed to be pouring from the core of his body, swirling around the imperial in a pearlescent swathe.

The wounds on Edmund's stomach smoldered, turning a white color at the edges and closing as his blood turned to a sweet smelling steam and evaporated off his body, Edmund wiping some steaming blood of his lip and watching it go from a dark rogue to a bright, tangerine red, feeling an incredible heat in the core of his being, his breath, heart rate, and faculties suddenly strengthening.

He did not know what was happening, and with his rational mind believed he had died or gone mad, yet against his rational mind, the imperial slowly stood and took a step forward, promptly going lightheaded and falling again, crying out as his wounds grew aggravated, trying again as a white aura drew around him.

The imperial, in trance near sleep, staggered towards the dragon, grabbing his sword and pulling it from the dragon's decimated eye, the once mighty dragon moaning weakly.

Edmund stepped around and found that all of Irileth's lightning had not been wasted, as there was a sizable weakspot exposed on his forehead,

"_What… are you… human?_" The dragon moaned as the flow of his lifeforce into Edmund only grew stronger,

"I am Edmund," He growled, bringing his blade up for the final plunge, a memory entering his mind, surfacing in the flow of energy "Sleep, _Mirmulnir (Strong Allegiance Hunt)_" The dragon, upon hearing his name- no- more than simply recited, it was spoken in the Thu'um, but that could only mean…

"_Dovahkiin!? Noooooo!_" He shouted, Edmund finishing him off with a great stab to the forehead, the dragon wailing as his life was ended, his body going slack, his final breath sighing from his dead lips.

Edmund withdrew his blade, stepping away as Mirmulnir seemed to move again, only to erupt into mystic flame, the dragon catching fire and burning like kindling, the force of the flame going straight into the Dovahkiin.

Edmund watched the small swath around him become a torrent with force of a hurricane, the ancient soul filling his body with so great a power it made him faint, his blood, heart and very soul getting imbued with the force of the dragon's spirit, Mirmulnir's knowledge and memories, for an instant, becoming Edmund's before the information subsided into his subconscious, as no human could retain the entire lifetime of a Dovah-

After what felt like ages, when it was really less than a minute, Mirmulnir's Soul finished fusing with Edmund's, his body feeling strange as the pale aura receded, Mirmulnir's radiant bones fading to a pale ivory.

The imperial, named dragonborn by this creature, looked over his shoulder, turning fully when he saw the entirety of the Garrison, Irileth, and the rest of the trio were all standing around, staring in absent silence, Edmund withering in shame since for once, he was actually the strangest one in the room.

* * *

Far in the mountains, where no man beyond the covenant of the dragons have set foot, there lies an ancient, forgotten monastery, the dark, Nordic ruins slicing through the foreboding snow and ice, legendary Nord heroes turned undead pacing about, always on guard with their gleaming ebony weapons, their ice enchantments leaving trails of frost cold enough to shatter iron.

Above the battlements of this impenetrable fortress lies a gateway to another realm, its gatekeeper a man in black, ragged robes with elaborate inlays of the elements, his face an ebony mask: faint, pale highlights giving it the aspect of a pallid skull with violet swirls on his cheeks, draconic spurs on his forehead.

Beyond this angel of death is yet another rise, until you reach an inner sanctum that has never been seen by man, save the architects.

In the dim light filtering through the haven, a pair of eyes the color of hellfire open, the world eater shifting on his bed of stone, gazing from his throne on the mountaintop, a bed of runed stone, over his fortress and across Tamriel.

He felt a disturbance, the soul of a dragon being released into the world, Alduin narrowing his eyes as he searched for the soul of the fallen one, finding it absent.

This would come as no surprise had he simply overlooked it, but this was not one of the frail, miniscule souls of his fledgling dragons, this was the soul of Mirmulnir.

Alduin remembered him fondly as one of his strongest dragons, when the world eater ruled. He was one of the very few who survived the dragon war, keeping himself alive over the millennia.

The ashen dragon knew of Alduin's rise, as did the other survivor's, and honored the dragon lord's name with the blood of the humans who defied him, this Alduin loved.

Now, he was dead, more than dead, his soul no longer existed, its core essence absorbed into another.

Even though the great Mirmulnir was crippled and far past his prime, there was only one that could steal the power of such an ancient and immensely powerful being.

"Dragonborn…" Alduin growled, projecting himself far, far from his sanctuary, to the home of another dragon, the shady, remote river valley desolate after its new inhabitant claimed it. The World Eater would happily crush the Dragonborn with his own, deadly claws, but since the Dovahkiin possessed only a mimicry of a dragon soul, Alduin was blind to who he was, it could be any mortal in Skyrim.

But, the great, dark dragon never makes the same mistakes twice, and was prepared, this time:

"Hear my voice, and obey." He growled, "I have a very special task for you, _Kalameet_…"

To Be Continued...

* * *

I've given thought to it, but I've never added a "Soundtrack" to a story, but since music sets the mood very well, I'll do it just this once, if you like it, I'll add one to future chapters and stories, and I may revise previous chapters to include one of their own. It will always be placed at the bottom to keep the song titles from spoiling what happens, so it's up to you, the reader :3

The Journey to Whiterun: Skyrim OST – Wind Guide You

Meeting the Companions: Two Steps From Hell – Immortal

Whiterun and Dragonsreach: Skyrim OST – Sky Above, Voice Within

The Jarl's Verdict: Charlie Spring - Pier to Nowhere

The Western Watchtower: Skyrim OST – Death in the Darkness

Mirmulnir: Dark Souls OST – Elana, The Squalid Queen

Dragonborn's Awakening: The Greatest Battle Music of All Times – Constellation

Alduin's Lair: Two Steps From Hell – Black Blade


	6. Unslaad Krosis

A/N: Since I haven't received any overtly negative reviews on using the soundtrack, I'm going to keep on using it. I will put it at the end, as the scene titles may give away spoilers, but to any who want it, it's there :3

I'm really on a roll with this now that I've started getting the characters established. This and the next few chapters are definitely where the proverbial shit hits the fan and things get very chaotic. I'm not sure where to go when this arc is complete as there are a ton of directions I could take the plot in, but I'll worry about that when I get there :3

* * *

The undead stared vacantly at the human, at least she thought it was a human, before her, Edmund looking awkward as he finished absorbing the soul of the dragon.

It wasn't possible… undead and hollows craved souls to replenish their spirit as their own souls faded, their bodies able to steal life energy since they had a void within them, and demons were able to devour souls because their power was so massive, they required a huge level of energy to sustain themselves.

A normal, healthy human with an intact soul shouldn't be able to practice the soul arts, as there was neither too much no too little energy to feed, it was inconceivable! That, and Annie could _feel _something different in him: an undead consumed souls by deconstructing the fallen's life force as it escaped their body, essentially leeching the energy from the corpses.

While the absorption of the scarred dragon looked the same, it produced a completely different result: she saw the dragon's body, including his muscles and scales, burn, all of the energy traveling into the imperial's body, before the dragon's soul spiraled into Edmund's.

It wasn't leeched dry and discarded, but merged with the imperial's soul in its entirely, the energies overlapping to the point where Annie could no longer determine where one ended and the other began, something not even a master of the soul arts could do.

Annie stomped towards Edmund, Kylee in tow with the rest if the army and Irileth just behind. The first thing the undead did to greet the slimy bastard was smack him over the head, hauling him up by the collar:

"You," She hissed, "This whole time you decided to play helpless and get us to carry you on, denying anything was off… what are you playing at, huh?"

"I don't know what happened!" he shouted defensively, noticeably panicked, "I just… I just killed him, and it happened on its own!"

"Stop lying to me, you useless fuck!" she barked, "No undead could do what you just did, that doesn't just happen, now stop playing innocent and tell me how you fused with a dragon soul!" His eyes went glassy,

"What?" Annie dropped him, Edmund touching on his chest, where his soul was,

"By the gods!" One of the soldiers exclaimed, "The legends… you must be dragonborn!"

"Dragonborn?" The imperial wondered aloud, the dark elf turning towards the soldier,

"Explain yourself, what is this 'dragonborn'?"

"It's a Nord legend," another said, "it is written that one day, when the dragons return to Skyrim, and black wings in the cold come unfurled, the Dragonborn, a man with the soul of a dragon, will rise, and vanquish them once and for all!"

"You're saying _he_ is the Dragonborn?" another added skeptically, noting Edmund's tattered appearance, "What will be next, the dancing bear or the singing squirrel?"

"Quiet you! He consumed the soul of a dragon, and though his clothes are torn he doesn't have a scratch on him, that's no coincidence!"

"Enough!" Irileth barked, trying to gain her composure, "Dragonborn or not, that does not change the fact we have a dead dragon lying in our hold, and three warriors who put it there." Annie shied away, Irileth turning back to them, gritting her teeth,

"On behalf of Whiterun… I… Thank you." She sighed, "We need to get you to the Jarl immediately, and tell him what has transpired here, all of you find some ropes and drag this thing back to the city: the least we can do is let the court wizard study it, find out where it came from and why it's here."

The bones were secured with tethers found in the watchtower, the garrison dragging the skeleton along while the trio accompanied Irileth ahead of the others, Annie still seething to the core.

This whole time. This whole time _Edmund_, the most hoity, toity pompous racist mumbly fuck she'd seen on this continent not only turned out to be the most bizarre and unique mutation of them all, but said mutation granted him power of the soul arts beyond even the most talented in all of Vachst.

Whether or not he knew of this ability, or was just fucking with her, he would have to answer for _that_…

* * *

They entered the Jarl's great palace of Dragonsreach in good time, Balgruuf calling to them:

"What did you find?" Irileth stepped ahead of the trio, being the Jarl's most trusted bodyguard, it would seem. The Dark Elf hesitated, the familiar look of defeat that comes from being unable to impress people you're telling the truth on her face, Balgruuf shifting in his seat, "Irileth, what has happened?"

"It was a dragon," She said, the Jarl leaning up in his throne, "It destroyed a large part of the garrison, and nearly devoured me, but we were eventually able to defeat it." Balgruuf looked like part of the world had fallen in on him, the undead celebrating a silent victory at finally getting through to him:

"Is there any proof to this claim?"

"The garrison is dragging the beast's carcass here as we speak. It will be here in a few hours." Even without seeing it, the Jarl seemed smart enough to realize she wouldn't forge a lie that blatant, all he could say was:

"Then you three were telling the truth, afterall?"

"Yes," Edmund stepped forward, "When it was fallen, I consumed his soul. The soldier said I was 'dragonborn'."

"Then that explains it," another guard stated, looking up, "a few hours ago, there was a great, booming voice from the mountains, it shouted 'Dovahkiin', I told you it was the greybeards, Jarl!" Balgruuf nodded slowly,

"If one legend is true, so must another, yes?"

"Now wait just a moment!" His consort insisted, "Surely, we must think this-"

"Proventus." The Jarl snapped, indicating he'd already made up his mind, "I have thought on these problems for far too long, the time has come to act before anymore lives are lost to this calamity." He leaned down, thinking, another warrior stepping forward:

"Brother," he started, surprising the trio, "You have my support: with the war going and the dragons about, the only option is to fight. However, the Dragonborn is the only one of us who can defeat a dragon single handed." _Yeah right-_ Annie growled inwardly, though that didn't stop Edmund from puffing out his feathers.

"What is your point, Hrongar?"

"If the legends are true, then the dragonborn must go to High Hrothgar, surely the Greybeards can teach him how to master the Thu'um. If Jarl Ulfric can shout a high king apart, the Greybeards could surely teach this man to shout the dragons apart!"

"Perhaps…" Balgruuf nodded, "However, the Throat of the World is a long, long way from here, and let's not forget the dangers that may bar the path. I would send another garrison to defend them, but it sounds like we will need every man we have just to defend our own homes."

"I wise choice, my liege." Proventus added, Hrongar retorting,

"I understand the need to defend our people, but the Dragonborn must be allowed to master his voice!"

"I agree, but they will need proper training, and equipment." Balgruuf said firmly, "That is why they will join the Companions."

"Join the Companions?" Hrongar exclaimed, "Their steel and training would do great, but they are an outlander, a man who can't even hold his blade properly, and an underhanded rogue who likely has no concept of honor, or dignity!"

"Say that again, punk." Kylee growled. Annie jumped, as he'd been so silent the undead never even realized the lizard was right behind her, reaching for his shortsword. His voice- there was a note of incredible hostility, yet he didn't raise it above a whisper, Hrongar backing off a bit, though he didn't look happy to do so.

"I didn't mean any offense, Argonian, but there is no way Kodlak would deem you three worthy to join the order."

"Hrongar!" Balgruuf barked, his brother stepping down, "That is up to Kodlak to decide. Before being warriors, they are guests of this house, and I will not let you insult them before me!"

"_Like you_…" Balgruuf turned to her, Annie feeling shame overwhelm her. She didn't mean to say it aloud, it just slipped. She was just as angry as Kylee that yet again she was being judged on what she was rather than who, something she seemed to face everywhere she went.

The Jarl's "benevolent" statement felt extremely hypocritical, making her lash out, but as the shame bore on her, Balgruuf sighed,

"I apologize, yes, I made you very unwelcome here, that goes for the two of you, as well." He surveyed them, "I was hasty in not believing what you had to say, but whatever your backgrounds, species, or creeds, you have become a very important member of our society. And, let it be known the service you have done our city in slaying the dragon shall not go unforgotten, and your reward will come in due time."

None of the trio were convinced save Edmund, though Annie felt a little more docile. She'd coaxed an apology out of the Jarl, a half assed one but an acknowledgement of wrong nonetheless.

"Now," Balgruuf continued, "When you are ready, speak to Kodlak, in Jorvaskar, he will decide your worthiness. Should you impress him, you shall find yourselves training with the best warriors in Skyrim, to aid your quest."

* * *

After a good meal, and some time to rest up, the trio went to the Companion's mead hall, an almost unbelievably old, one-story building with a few holes here and there in the roof, a set of stairs off to the left ascending to the great eagle statue they saw before with the familiar sound of blacksmith's hammer hitting a heavy anvil.

Though they were all, for lack of a better term, completely wiped out between the chaos yesterday and fighting the dragon today, Annie was sure that when they joined the Companions, they should be awarded some food and a place to sleep for the evening, hopefully.

An Undead like her would seldom be allowed into any "civilized" place, so Annie was accustomed to sleeping outside and hunting her own food, sometimes surviving by the light of the bonfires alone, though that was a last resort, as Estus could nourish the body on a basic level, but it could easily strand even the toughest undead for days when they grew too weak to move without it.

Annie wasn't delicate, but it shouldn't be too much to ask for a safe place to sleep and good food to eat to keep her on her feet, which is precisely why, the moment they stepped into the hall of Jorvaskar, her stomach growled horridly as they passed all the food on the circle of longtables dominating the room.

She knew what it meant to go hungry, having to evade danger all the time, and with her superhuman strength and metabolism came a voracious appetite, the halberdier wiping her mouth and trying not to think about food too much as they searched for Kodlak.

As the trio went downstairs, leaving the main dining hall, which basically took up the entire building save a few rooms to the side, Annie could catch the eyes of a few of the warriors, watching after her. She wasn't stupid, in a town like this, with what just happened, word spread fast, especially to the Companions, whom the Jarl would've sent a notice to.

With any prayer of looking like any old human dashed, Annie tried to concentrate on the basement corridor they'd come to, seeing a pair of people speaking to one another.

Unlike the others, who wore a hodgepodge of any old armor they could find throughout the city, these two wore identical sets of ceremonial mail: like polished steel, but noticeably brighter, going from grey to near ivory, the design a lot more ornate with curved shoulder pads and a small metal wolf's head mounted to the center of the collar.

They were obviously the ceremonial elites of the order, the younger of the two a man with shoulder length dark hair and a small amount of stubble shadowing him, the older of the two a mighty old man with thick white hair flowing past his shoulders and a thick, slightly greying beard like a cloud.

Their conversation stopped as the three walked in, the younger retaliating:

"Can't you see we're busy?" The younger one growled, the elder one sighing, withdrawn from the world:

"Are you Kodlak?" Edmund ventured, the elder glancing up to them:

"I am Kodlak, that is Vilkas, one of my Circle." His voice was deep and strong, yet Annie could sense a weariness in him, a withdrawn stoicism, "What do you want?"

The halberdier could tell Edmund, of course, was peeved at being called anything short of "lord master king doctor his royal dovahkiin" so she stepped in and answered for him, hoping if she worked the conversation along fast enough there wouldn't be time for something to go wrong:

"We were advised to join the Companions, the Jarl thinks you could help us prepare for the journey to High Hrothgar." The elder looked over at her, his eyes locking on hers as he leaned up, transfixed. The Halberdier was used to being stared at like an abomination of nature, which she was on many levels, but this gaze was one of fascination and something like familiarity, something she found thoroughly unnerving.

"Yes, I have been expecting you." He nodded, his tone noticeably shifting, looking over her with Vilkas at his side, scrutinizing, "You three have promise, especially after your exploit in defeating the dragon. I will allow you to train, and take jobs from the other members of the Circle."

"You cannot be serious, Harbinger," Vilkas exclaimed, "It is far too soon, we haven't even seen their abilities-"

"Then take them to the back, and break them in." Vilkas still didn't look impressed by Kodlak's choice, the old man's tired eyes continuing to stare at Annie, like she was suddenly the most important thing in his world, which made her skin crawl.

Vilkas, without any verbal objection, took them away, pointing to a bunk room where they could sleep and telling them when the meals would be served, thoroughly annoyed their inception into the Companions came down to mere 30 second conversation at best.

Come to think of it… Kodlak barely even recognized the other two existed- all he could do was gaze upon Annie and bid her welcome, demanding Vilkas work with her. The halberdier knew better than to trust in the good nature of man and, like anyone with half a brain, knew there must be more to it, and didn't like it even remotely.

Speaking of, as they came to the doors and headed outside, Annie felt the disturbing sense something was… missing. It didn't come to her until she thought on it… when she realized there was something wrong.

She looked around a bit, finally noticing Kylee walking by her, his metallic eyes gazing at the ground. It finally occurred to her that this whole time, from the dragon to now, he'd barely spoken a word. More than being silent as death, Annie almost forgetting he was there altogether, he wasn't acting right either…

"Hey," Annie offered, getting his attention,

"Hmm, yeah?"

"You're acting pretty strange, is there something wrong?"

"Don't I always?" he shrugged, laughing to himself, though it felt a little too forced, "I'm just thinking, don't worry about it!"

"Alright." Annie growled, dismissing him, if only to hide her paranoia. It wasn't just her: the lizard was putting out a really bad vibe… or maybe he'd finally realized he needed to take life seriously for more than .2 seconds?

Either way, she had training to do, and didn't have time to worry about Kylee's issues.

* * *

Another stroke of the sword slashed across Annie's breast, the undead throwing her weight into a mighty swing to the side.

Vilkas' backstepped to let the axe fly past him, but only just. But rather than a near miss, the shiteating grin on his face said it was a very intentional faint just to mock her inability to catch him, the Companion stepping back in and thrusting for her.

Annie rolled to the side, only for Vilkas to flip to the side at that instant as well, landing them face to face, the Companion and thrusting his blade towards her, scuffing her shoulder as Annie flipped her axe to the side to defend from it, but was simply too off balanced as he brought his arm back to thrust again-

Annie was ready, stepping back to take advantage of her reach, repositioning her hands and throwing the axe into a cleave- Vilkas midway through his roll backwards to dodge.

Annie cursed under her breath that she'd fallen for such an obvious faint, especially since the Companion rolled around in his armor, which looked sturdy enough to put a castle wall to complete shame, as quickly and effortlessly as gymnast wearing a fucking sheet.

Annie was pulled to the side by the weight of her weapon, the undead correcting as fast as possible by heaving all her weight to the side, but again the Companion was a leap ahead of her, stepping in with his shield up and stopping the axe at the shaft, turning with his blade out to slash her neck, the undead deftly ducking-

Vilkas kicked her in the stomach with the force of a water buffalo, laying the undead on her back. She had no idea what it was, but his strength was just _wrong _for a human. That, and it seemed the more pissed off she got, the further ahead he was as Vilkas attempted to stomp her, the undead rolling to the side and flipping onto her feet, jumping away when the Companion again went for a lunge-

They were training, which made the exercise a lot less intense than a true battle, but Vilkas was one brutal motherfucker, his blade shearing some hair from her side just as the undead escaped his reach, the halberdier retaliating with a great sweep of her own.

Vilkas, off-balanced by the thrust, ducked as Annie had, the undead letting the weight carry her to the side as she brought her mighty fist out to clip him-

He turned on his axis, his shield jumping up from his side in a perfect parry, Annie's fist reflecting from the steel surface, reeling as she tried to find her footing, while Vilkas was already prepared, getting to his feet and instantly ramming her with his shield, knocking her flat once more, the Companion drawing his sword out and ramming it into the base of her throat, the tip stopping just before it drew blood.

"If this were a real fight," he smirked, "You would be dead." Annie glowered, getting up and doing her best to ignore the many shallow, but stinging wounds across her body. She would use her Estus Flask, but it'd been ages since she'd seen or rested at a bonfire.

They had to be made with a ceremonial blade plunged through the bones of hollows, and on a continent where the undead had been unheard of until just recently, they weren't exactly common, the materials having to be imported from Vachst and set in a place where they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Now you see what I was telling you: anger, rage, and youthful vigor will win the day – if your opponents are milk drinking amateurs. To win in later battles, you need to be in control of your emotions: rely on experience and technique, react to what your opponent is doing and never dedicate yourself to an attack _fully_."

"I am controlling my anger." Annie growled, Vilkas snickering in conceit,

"Control is being at peace with yourself and surroundings, even in battle, that way you can think clearly. Bottling your emotions, then charging into one heavy blow after the next the moment you _think _you can is not control. That is the reason Kodlak should never have made you a companion: you're too young to understand your own emotions, let alone master your skills as a warrior."

The undead got angrier than she ever had before, as the insults hit very close to home. She _was_ young. She'd gotten into a terrible accident just a few years ago, discovering her Darksign when she arose from the flames. She rapidly showed promise as a fighter, proving a natural when it came to long weapons like the spear and halberd.

Her training had lasted a mere three weeks, before she demanded to go overseas and fight for her kingdom, though everyone insisted that she needed more training due to her fiery temper and strong soul.

But those were the grounds she used on why she _should_ go, her teachers relenting. Her training beyond that was through sparring matches aboard the ship on the years-long journey to Tamriel, which she believed prepared were more than enough.

She had all the promise, all the training and strength to win. So why did she continue to lose?

It made her hurt, and when she hurt, she got angry, hitting harder than ever.

"Again." She growled, clenching her fist as the other two continued their own duels: Edmund getting pretty beaten up by Ria, another imperial, while Kylee (who Annie was starting to suspect was more than what he said he was) locked blades with Aela, the two dead equal in every way, each one sharing the same number of lightly bleeding wounds as they danced around one another.

She had to be better than them, she _had_ to…

By the time the sun had set, Annie had worked up an incredible appetite, downing a few potions of healing, though her head was still numb with exertion. She didn't even know how many times her and Vilkas had crossed blades, though she couldn't recall hitting him a single time…

* * *

"Wake up!" Someone shouted, Edmund poking one eye open and stretching, only to find that the intruding voice was running down the halls, practically screaming, "Wake up! For the love of all that is holy you must get up, now!" The Dragonborn rose from his place, looking around in confusion alongside the other Companions in the room, plus other members down the hall.

Annie, already dressed in her armor and polishing her weapon since she apparently never slept, got up and went to the doorway, looking out as the guard came down with several Companions in tow,

"The fuck's going on, I'm trying to rest!"

"Draugr!" he gasped, "There are Draugr about, please help us!" Edmund sighed, remembering the undead from Riverwood. It seemed they really were on the prowl lately.

All the Companions left as soon as they could, running across town and positioning themselves along the defensive wall around the old city, which was a bit decrepit but more than able to defend from most attacks, Edmund and the others gazing into the distance, the imperial a little confused when he saw the hundreds of Whiterun soldiers pouring through the defensive wall to get outside and defend the city, the Companions advised to stand up on the wall or stay inside the door as a last line of defense.

"What's going on?" Edmund asked, looking out as the field of torches entering the field, "The Draugr are pretty tough, but this response is ridiculous."

"I see 'em!" Someone called, the other's gazing out. The storm clouds they'd seen across the land had turned into a full thunderstorm, the rain lightly drumming while the occasional flash of lightning lit up the landscape, some holes in the fractured clouds letting Edmund to see patches of starry sky and shafts of pale moonlight, giving a wall of fog around the hold a spectral quality.

It was then he saw them, a few dark shapes emerging from the fog, the Draugr moving in a slow, even gait with their weapons at their side, marching slowly to conserve their energy. Edmund counted about a dozen, their blue eyes glowing faintly in the stormy night as they stepped from the fog.

"Alright, it see them over there."

"Uh," Kaiah'lee said, pointing to another place, "I see some over there, to…" Edmund looked to where he was pointing, seeing another few heads coming from the fog, the clouds parting around the moon and parting the fog slightly, Annie freezing at Edmund's side as the trio looked into the distance.

A few of the undead had gone ahead of the main group, shuffling past several farms and slowly condensing into units, more of them emerging from the fog in the background.

There was just an- unending line of Draugr from one side to the other, their blues eyes lighting up the fields around Whiterun like swarms of azure fireflies. They seemed to materialize from the fog infinitely, their footfalls slowly reaching the trio's ears as a thunderous drum, deep as the thunder of the storm.

"How many Draugr were buried in Skyrim, exactly?" Annie mumbled, grabbing her battleaxe,

"Who knows, _Thousands at least._" The guard murmured, the army of undead stepping forward like a dark, unstoppable tide, "May the gods have mercy on us all." Whiterun's army came into the battlefield, bearing torches to light the way, though the storm begun to pick up, likely preparing to extinguish them soon, the archers lining the top of the old defensive wall knocking their arrows and preparing to fire.

The Draugr kept up a slow, but steady pace, one foot slowly coming in front of the other, all their hundreds of iron grieves falling at near the same time as compared to the mad scramble of the city guard who were closing the distance on them.

"What are they waiting for?" Annie snapped, directing her attention towards Kaiah'lee, "Do they plan on making some sort of Phalanx?"

"I'm not sure, it's not a very effective formation when less than half of them are carrying shields." A growl sounded, Edmund looking to the blackened clouds and seeing a silhouette pass overhead, sweeping by so fast he barely caught a glimpse of it, but he knew that massive, dark shape and great leathery wings-

"Dragon!" he shouted, though the army of Whiterun had little to no opportunity to hear him through the storm, much less react as the dragon swept to the side and blew over the field with astonishing speed, his wings shrieking through the air like a banshee as he unleashed his fire breath, the column of black near invisible in the gloom, though the rim of brilliant gold was dazzlingly clear-

The black fire swept through the army, Edmund feeling himself lurch as his breath seemed to erase the rows of soldiers, their torches extinguished and bodies instantly turned to ash, great plumes of steam billowing up from the ground as all the rainwater was exploded into steam and blown around the survivors.

Unlike Mirmulnir, this dragon seemed to breathe his flame endlessly, the arc of flame traveling in a crescent across the army, thousands of lives ended in an instant, the arrows they fired on the dragon useless as he pulled up and did an elegant spiral upwards, diving back down and making another pass so rapid all they could see of him was the inferno unleashed from his maw, his body sweeping back and forth in fierce diving motions that drove his momentum up higher and higher, until each thrust of his sleek body made a boom in the air.

The trio watched helplessly as Whiterun's guard turned tail and retreated, the orders nearly drowned in the downpour as the storm picked up, the black fire leaving a cyclone of steam in the heavy curtains of rain.

The retreat of the guards in yellow seemed to act as a sort of signal, a warped battlecry going through the ranks of undead as they went from a slow walk to a great charge, their feet hitting the ground like hail as they came forward at a full sprint, the guards ahead of them, but hopelessly outnumbered as the steam cyclone rimmed with gold continued to sweep them away.

"How are they outmaneuvering us!?" The guard shouted, "And why is that dragon assisting them, what kind of cruel Daedra are behind this!" None of them had an answer as the archers along the wall sent their arrows flying, a few blue eyes in the tide going out, only for the countless others to trample the limp bodies and continue the advance, tireless as the guards rallied inside the defensive outer wall, Edmund watching them raise the drawbridge over the ditch and form ranks.

The Draugr came to the trench, waiting, the dragon's fire halting as the guards atop the drawbridge begun throwing explosive alchamental brews upon them.

"That should slow them down for a little while, hopefully we can-" he was interrupted by the sound of immense wings, Edmund seeing the deafening curtain of rain part around the dark dragon diving towards the drawbridge, another shape clutched in his hind leg, his glowing blue eyes marking him as another Draugr.

The dragon, his eye a burning a rusty orange, threw the warrior as he pulled up, the figure flying towards the top of the wall and crushing the railing, skidding to a stop inside the bridge house.

The other guards were too stunned to hit him for a moment, before charging for him, the Draugr bringing his long, rusted iron sword around and slicing the legs from under the row of guards with a single swing, their limbs severing easily as he brought up his shield and stopped the humans on his other side, parting it aside to thrust his blade, plunging into the guard's stomach and sweeping up, splitting him open like a butcher splitting a cut of meat.

A second guard came towards him, the tall Draugr launching a kick into his stomach with a roar and breaking him in two, blood spewing from his mouth as his spine shattered and he tumbled away, the great Draugr turning as more guards scrambled up the stairs-

"_Fo'KRAhDIiN!_" He shouted in a warped, strong voice, Edmund lurching and clutching his chest as something stirred in him, his only distraction the force projected from the Draugr's spirit as his shout spread out in a great, icy mist at the speed of sound with a boom as the raindrops turned solid midair and fell, the guards stopping as they were frozen to the bones-

Edmund nearly gagged as they fixed in place like statues, their comrades trying to shatter them to get up the stairs, only to slip on the wet, frozen rain blanketing the steps and fall to the bottom, the Draugr gazing on the army from inside the great, horned helm sitting above his blackened eyes a moment before he kicked the lever down, dropping the drawbridge and smashing the mechanism with the edge of his shield, blowing the metal cogs apart as easily as glass.

He jumped down just before the volley of arrows hit him, landing on the drawbridge and turning about with the rows of Draugr lining up at his back, the great, armored warrior clearly their leader as the remains of Whiterun's army came for him-

"IiSS _SLEN_!" His voice boomed again, his body lurching as the force of his voice boomed forward, the energy striking the soldiers, coating them in ice and rendering them immobile as the binding set in, Dovahkiin again feeling an intense pain in his chest as he fell into Annie's arms, the undead looking back down on the lower ramparts from atop the wall-

The Draugr unleashed bolts of ice from their palms, the arcane crystal blowing though the frozen soldiers, hitting more of the guards behind them, the Draugr advancing strong as the leader's mighty shield deflected the arrows easily, coming upon the soldiers as they regrouped again-

"By Ysmir!" One screamed atop the storm, "We will not allow you into our city, undead abominations!" The Dark Draugr stopped as the army came at him, his body seeming to lurch, Edmund covering his ears, though it did nothing to stop the force from entering his brain and driving the new parts of him mad-

"_FUS'RODAh_!" The wave blew the rain back into the sky, the bubble seeming to crack a moment before the force of a thousand warhammers crushed the soldiers before him, the waves blowing the bodies to the ground in a great tumble, the Draugr at his back pelting them with shards of ice and freezing streams from their hands, entombing them in icy death under the rain as it fell down from the air in a great splash.

"Help!" Edmund, his head in a haze, jerked to the entrance of Whiterun, the door getting banged upon by desperate hands, "For the love of all that is holy! Open this door!" The doors were opened by the soldier's within the gate, the troops outside, now a mere few hundred, pouring through until they rammed the door shut again, bracing themselves and sealing the dead irons, bracing it with timber to be sure.

The Dragonborn realized that there was now only one door and several flimsy locks to hold back the undead now, the archers continuing to vainly pepper the deathless legion with arrows, though it was clear there was no way they were going to drive the Draugr back- they were too powerful and far too many, the one at the head alone seeming on par with a demigod, the figure looking to the archers and thrusting his blade forward.

"KRIi Lir!" His servants all thrust their palms out, a volley of ice spikes ramming the side of the rampart and forcing the archers and the trio to dive for cover, "Bolog Aaz, Mal LIr!" He roared, the another great warcry from the undead, who were no so close Edmund could practically feel their iron bootheels outside the door.

The trio went down towards the Companions who'd assembled a ways back, a wizard in Azure robes standing by them,

"Dragonborn!" the wizard called, the three rallying with the Companions, "No time to explain, but we must get you to safety at once, you are the one they are after!"

"Me? But-"

"No time to explain!" he interjected, "But if you perish, all may be lost, we must leave now!" Edmund looked to Kodlak, who was said to be the Harbinger, head of the Companions, the old man nodding,

"The city is lost, but it can be rebuilt. Right now, the lives of the people are more important, hurry now, there is a secret tunnel system beneath Whiterun that can take us to the edge of the city, there we can make a run for the woods before they can catch up to us."

A tremendous force struck the gate, the guards grunting as they tried to hold it shut, even as the reinforced door broke apart under the brutal blows of the undead, the trio running for it without another word.

* * *

Edmund couldn't recall the trip out of Whiterun, just running through the city under the downpour of rain, his eyes on the road ahead, though he was chilled to the very soul as the rain poured down, soaking him through and draining his spirit as a weariness settled over him, the screams of the citizens, who realized the city was lost as the doors blew open and the undead swept though, the godlike voice of the Norse hero breaking through the air, numbing him as they, and the few who were wise enough, went for a few remote escape routes in the city.

The hinges were left unbolted by some wise forefather, allowing them to pull it open and slip into the catacombs, the drum of rain pressing down on them as they drew out some torches and slammed the grate on the surface to keep anything from following them.

The heat of the torches and dry chambers only reminded Edmund of how wet he was as the dust stuck to him and turned to mud, his mind no longer registering heat, cold, or even his footfalls on the ground as they passed through hundreds of yards of shifting tunnel, until it turned into an open cleft of stone, the group emerging into the gloom and seeming to pass from the dry, semi-quiet realm of the chambers into the dark and thunderous rain of the world outside.

They continued to flee, gazing at the black dragon overhead as he swooped down and made a sport of demolishing the farms outside the city, preying upon the scant survivors of the blitzkrieg on Whiterun, though there was nothing the Companions could do to harm a dragon so ferocious as he to help.

Mirmulnir was feeling like more and more of a fluke, the dragonborn despairing as they continued to run, until they gazed upon a line of undead starting to envelop the outskirts of the city, forming a line to stop anyone from getting out.

But, even the dragonborn saw that they were spread pretty thin, if they could just break through and make it into the forest before the dragon spotted them or reinforcements could get there, they may be able to survive.

"Companions!" Kodlak roared, four joining his side and pressing ahead of the rest. But what could they do? They had their silvery armor and weapons, but breeching the undead would not be easy.

As he thought this in his despair, the undead started coming for them, raising their iron arms with their undead strength, only to witness-

"I'll bury you alive!" Farkas roared, his greatsword coming around with a mighty whoosh, the Draugr's dark blood flying in an arc around him as Farkas' extended blade tore through them as easily as the rain, their undead lungs exhaling a moan as their iron armor was gutted before they could even get close enough to hit back, Vilkas coming in from the other side and lashing out with a great twinblade, his body stepping forward and rolling into a great cleaving blow downward, slicing a Draugr shoulder to hip and rolling to another, spearing him through the chest and flipping over him, coming down on one's head and slicing him in two, his blade rolling in a vortex around him as he shredded through the Draugr like a gust of wind-

Skjor, a bald, battle scarred legionnaire drew his two heavy broadswords, stepping around an axe wielder and catching him on the backswing of his left blade while his right traced a line through both arms and the neck of the Draugr ahead of him, his heavy blades moving so fast it was hard to track them as he tore through the undead with incredible finesse-

Aela fired off her bow, taking them down with precise shots to the head midrun, one of the Draugr nearly catching her in the side until she crouched down and swept it off his feet, drawing her dagger and eviscerating another in front of her-

Kodlak grunted, plunging his clawed gauntlets into a Draugr's stomach and ripping in in half with his raw strength, stepping past another Draugr's strike and launching a bone crushing left hook, the corpse's jaw shattering as his skull cracked open and he was sent flying from the Harbinger's path-

Edmund felt mixed awe as the Circle tore through the undead with such ease he could barely believe his eyes, the undead falling so fast it was hard to trace their blows, the companions around the sides trying to chase off the undead who were encroaching in as they cleaved through the swarm-

They were- protecting him?

His despair lessoned as they broke through, nothing but open field and the distant mountains and forest ahead of them with the Draugr breaking off to give pursuit, only to turn back when they realized that their speed was a lot less than that of a healthy human, or even healthy undead or lizard: on a large, open field, there was no way they could intercept them.

"Down!" Kodlak called, everyone, without even thinking, diving forward and plunging into the thick grasses, waiting what felt like years until the roar of a dragon's wingbeat blew overhead, the thick prairie, now flying wildly in the wind and rain, obscuring his vision enough to miss the prone warriors as he flew overhead, looking for prey.

The instant the beast was out of earshot, they stood, Edmund nearly passing out on the grasses, only to mechanically sprint forward some more as they left Whiterun behind them and watched the mountains and forest swell on the horizon.

* * *

Edmund barely dreamt, his only visions brief flashes of flying… though he had no idea why the thought filled him with a sort of nostalgia….

The dragonborn awoke lying against a hard, cool stone, his shoulders aching from the uncomfortable position he'd been in for who knows how many hours, his sleepiness almost dragging him back down again, until he remembered what had happened.

That couldn't be real, it had to be some sort of nightmare, right? He leaned up, feeling his iron sword, which he'd kept at his side since Helgen, wet, his clothes soaked in sweat and rain, his skin clammy and pale.

The run through the storm had been no dream, and neither was the congregation of numerous citizens lying around, getting their wounds tended while mothers tried to hush their crying children and infants, numerous Whiterun guards talking in hushed whispers about what to do in the damp, dark cave.

Edmund was dead tired, and it was only by a mix of luck and quick forethought that lead him and the Companions to a cave in the river valley not far from Whiterun, alongside the other citizens who took refuge. All he could remember was leaning against the stones to rest for a little while, and everything going black, as the effort of the past few days caught up with him in one great stroke.

Something he couldn't forget as he stood, though, was what that wizard had said: that the Draugr came for Edmund, though he had no idea why. If that was really the case, then all those people had died, because of him-

The dragonborn dismissed the idea, there was no way that could be true! But nonetheless, he had to get to the bottom of this immediately, Edmund heading to where the trio, the wizard, and even the Jarl were standing, the Companions within earshot tending Kodlak, who was passed out, wheezing and coughing in his sleep.

"Edmund," Balgruuf called, "We've been waiting for you, this is my court wizard, Farengar, he will fill you in on the details."

"Details?" Edmund blinked groggily,

"I wasn't able to bring my whole collection with me, but I was able to salvage the most important." The court wizard said, drawing a plain, fairly large tome from his robes, Edmund reading the title as _Amongst The Draugr_.

"A book?"

"Not just a book," Farengar corrected, a curious gleam in his eyes, "It may be the answer."

* * *

Soundtrack:

The Dragonborn's destiny: Skyrim OST – Wind Guide You

Joining the Compainions: Two Steps From Hell – Immortals

Vilkas' Lesson: Zack Hemsey – Warrior's Lullaby

March on Whiterun: Two Steps From Hell – Power of Darkness

The Legendary Draugr: Brand X Music - Decimate (Volume 16, 2012)

Run: Two Steps From Hell – Cry

The Companion's Ferocity: Audiomachine – Blades of Death

After the Storm: Dark Souls OST – The Hidden Track


	7. Bleak Falls Barrow

A/N: I am sooooooooooooooooooo depressed ;.;

Don't know where it came from, but I suddenly just have a massive flood of emotions hitting me all at once right now, so I guess it's time to take up the ol' Digital Titanite Slab and get to writing \[T]/

* * *

Without any further interruptions, Farengar began, flipping through his few books for reference on occasion:

"In the first Dragon War, Alduin, the lord of the dragons, was vanquished by the heroes of old, which marked a key turning point in the war, when the humans begun to force the dragon's back, as they had no lord to guide and derive strength from. As the dragons became more and more scarce, the Dragon cult which worshipped them went into a retreat, the Nords systematically eradicating them as they were found.

However, there were a vast number of dragon cultists who believed that one day, Alduin would return, and when he did, his faithful would receive a second life, and his empire would be resurrected to its former glory. The key elements to this theory were the dragon priests, who followed Alduin the closest, and ran Skyrim as the masters of the realm with their great power.

In the end, only the eight strongest, with masks that could defy time, blessed with powerful enchantments, were able to discover a way to make this resurrection possible:

Krosis, Rahgot, Otar, Hevnoraak, Volsung, Vokun, Morokei, and Nahkriin.

These eight entombed themselves, and their followers across Skyrim, in the barrows thousands of years ago, the denizen's forever bound to their tomb, and forever unliving, their bodies slowly decaying into the Draugr you see today."

"That's Barbaric!" Edmund snapped, Farengar just humming and flipping a page,

"There was once a magician who ventured into the tombs of the Draugr, and observed them in their daily rituals. It appears the Draugr donate their lifeforce either to the dragon priest himself, or to a great monument within the ruins: a sacred wall inscribed with mysterious runes that are likely the dragon language.

The transfer is one way: with the Draugr sustaining the priests, cleaning the ruins thoroughly, then returning to slumber in their resting places, where their lifeforce is replenished."

"Wait a moment," Annie snapped, "if they're been voluntarily hollowing for all these millennia, then how are they getting the lifeforce to keep going?"

"It is hard to say: it appears your curse of the Undead and the Draugr's deathlessness are not the same, as they appear. One thing that has held true for thousands of years, in every telling of every tale, why the Nords of old didn't try to destroy the Draugr and lay siege to their tombs, is that the Draugr _cannot _leave their tomb, if they did, they would fade away and die long before they could get very far, they have to be close to their rest at all times: which leads me to believe that the energy comes form the land itself, that it has somehow been consecrated."

"That's great, but it appears that's no longer the case." Annie snapped, "You've blabbered on about all this mythical shit, but haven't said a damned thing about why any of this is relevant if the Draugr can run around freely, now." Farengar beamed, letting everyone know the depths of his grasp of the obvious:

"The Priests. They are at the center of it all. The Tombs and monuments are being used to channel life energy to the priests, but what if the reverse is true? What would happen if the priests were to awaken at full strength in their resurrection, so they could take all that life energy and send it backwards into the tombs across Skyrim?"

Bingo. He could've cut the explanation down considerably had he skipped with the braggery, but it was abundantly clear that these Dragon Priests are what changed the equation.

"So," Edmund sighed, the Draugr got a little life energy and now they're allowed to roam free?"

"Oh, not a little," Farengar said, "A positively- massive amount, strong enough to resuscitate the Dragon Priests, as well as continually channel energy into the tombs, turning the fragile spark of life in the Draugr into a mighty flame strong enough to sustain them for long periods of time, even outside their tombs. Resuscitating the Draugr to their original human forms would take a very long time, so they still need to visit their barrows, but the time between visits could be anywhere between a few hours to several days depending."

"So we need to choke them at the source, by killing these Dragon Priests." Annie bayed, eager to target her frustration at the situation at a tangible thing, mostly so she could greet it with her shiny axe, "We still have the Abyss _and _the Dragons to consider, but putting the Draugr to bed would be a good start."

"Um, we have another problem," Edmund snapped in his typical annoyed fashion, "We have no idea where these Priests are or how to kill them."

"No, but I know where we can find out," Farengar nodded, pulling out a map, "I have been studying the Dragons for a long time, and have managed to stumble upon the location of a relic called the Dragonstone: a large stone tablet covered with writings. I don't know what it says exactly, but if my research is accurate, it has the location of every major burial site, which should include the locations of the Dragon Priests should they ever have to find eachother."

"If it's that simple, why didn't you get it earlier?"

"Because it's in the middle of a tomb, dumbass, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out." The undead barked, "If we're going to get that stone, we may need some help."

"I'll go." A large, wolf-armored man grumbled, Farkas stepping forward, along with Vilkas and Skjor, "Whiterun is our home, Aela agreed to watch after Kodlak while he recovers, the rest of us are commin' along." Kaiah'lee looked past at the other Companions, but they seemed resigned, if reluctant, to stay behind.

Afterall, someone had to babysit all the civilians, and they would get eaten alive in the Nord ruins. The Circle were simply better skilled and better equipped for the situation.

"I'll join you as well," boomed a large, blonde haired woman is gleaming platemail, "I love a good struggle, and I miss the Bannered Mare." Vilkas gave her an ugly look, the woman returning it banefully in kind,

"I'm not coming for you, I'm coming for the fight, _dog._" Vilkas nearly throttled her for that one, But Skjor disarmed him:

"It is alright, shield brother, reckless as she is, she looks like one of the few still fit to do battle."

"What happened?" Edmund asked suspiciously,

"She murdered a child." Vilkas spat, "She let herself get angry and hacked his head in two."

"That was an accident!" she snapped,

"Like Skjor said, Brother," Farkas shrugged, "We need all the men we can get, and at least she seems enthusiastic to go."

"Alright," Vilkas relented, "just stay out of her weapon's reach to avoid anymore 'accidents'." He growled, Balgruuf stepping up, a face that just declared he had nothing useful to say written in his features.

"In a past day, I would gladly fight at your side, but as the Jarl, I must stay with my people in their time of need, as do my guards." He apologized, "May the gods watch over your battle, and lend you their strength."

"Thank you," Edmund smiled, bowing and of course in the very imperial fashion putting on a show for his masters, "As the Dragonborn, I will not fail."

"Even if do fail, I'd just try again." Annie shrugged, the undead glancing at the prodigy as he watched the supplies getting rationed and prepared. The time came to head out, everyone getting enough for a day's journey plus all the Septims they could gather and headed for the entrance.

"Hey," Annie snapped, getting the prodigy's attention,

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is up with you lately? You've barely said anything, you've barely done anything 'cept stand there and stare at us, is there some big unresolved issue screwing with your head, or what?" _I really wish she'd stop asking that…_

"Naw, of course not! I'm just a little depressed what with the end of the world looming in the distance, I'll cope."

"Uh huh." She sighed, rolling her eyes, Kaiah'lee watching her exposed back as she tromped forward. She was starting to annoy him, badly. All it would take…

The Prodigy shook his head. He was a little afraid for his mental stability and whatnot when he had to get into all those fights, the dragon a proverbial last straw with what he could really cope with.

If he didn't get his act together and fast, Jeyryn'fea might pay him a visit…

* * *

Despite being a little low on supplies, the group opted to skip going to Riverwood to stock up on supplies, instead going across the river valley, picking up on an old trail and scaling up the mountain.

They got so paranoid at points their own heavy footsteps would frighten them half to death, Edmund wiping the cold sweat from his head, despite how cold it was getting as the air thinned and snow begun to blanket the ground from where the heat of summer couldn't reach, their number protected from the fierce cold by some furs they scraped together for the journey, though the razor snow still bit at them.

There was a deep, ominous vibe to the land, that was for certain: the group getting to a point where the road curved to the side, around the mountain, a watchtower overlooking the land. They crept up on the foreboding, crumbling stone structure, Edmund stepping on something soft, only to panic and flail backward when he realized he'd stepped on a body, many more found in the tower and strewn in the snow around the front.

"Bandits," Vilkas nodded, "they must have taken refuge up here thinking no-one would try to track them, but were right in the path of the Draugr when they awoke."

"The scouts have reported seeing them scouring the lands, looking for the Dragonborn, so the tomb should be fairly empty, but they will defend it fiercely." Skjor added, "Let's try not to end up like these bandits here." The group continued, Edmund remembering something that was bothering him,

"Hey, why would they be searching for me, and- why would they kill all these people just to get to me?" No-one had an answer to that, until Vilkas spoke up:

"The Dragonborn is supposed to be the bane of dragons: wielder of incredible power the likes of which we may never know. Whatever has awoken the dragons must fear you, and want to do everything in their power to ensure you don't gather the power of more Dragon Souls."

"I don't think they know it's you, either." Farkas added as they made their way through the icy gulch, "The Dragonborn is a being with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon: it could be anyone of any species, so I guess he's just having the dragons attack everyone at once to be safe."

"Right now they are ensuring there are no survivors from the attack on Whiterun, but they will move on to the surrounding holds and villages soon, so we should hurry." Skjor snapped, his eyes glinting through his battle-scarred face, "Our target is the Dragonstone, as soon as we find it, we should get to Riverwood and rest up."

"Got it." everyone replied with varying degrees of severity. Still, Edmund felt a little dead inside: all that blood on his hands, he didn't want to accept it, but it seemed he had no choice.

Despite the frigid cold, the day was pretty calm, the snow having settle on the ground with only the lightest breeze moaning through the rocky crags. Everyone was getting pretty tense at the endless walk, until they finally reached a flat space, the barrow dead ahead.

There was a row of great stone arches, hundreds of feet tall by hundreds of feet across, imposing even when he first saw them miles away from the trip to Riverwood, the Nordic stonework still fine, yet weathered and beaten, the grey turned a foggy black in the sun beating down on it.

The arches spanned a great walkway with stairs up the sides and along its length, leading up to the face of the structure: a great stone temple with a steeply pitched roof embedded in the mountainside with a few ancient statues keeping watch, the massive door all tarnished black iron with great decorative handles and numerous carvings.

"And here I thought this place would be intimidating up close." Kaiah'lee mumbled, their force heading forward. On their way to the door, being mindful not to slip on the icy steps, they spotted more dead bandits littering the ground, the Draugr sparing no-one from the carnage, until they reached the great door.

"Alright," Skjor said, watching the door intently, "We need to make sure nothing's on the other side of this door when it opens."

"I'll push," the Nord woman snapped, stepping to the door, everyone drawing their weapons as she heaved on the sturdy gate, the hinges screeching through the desolate hall and setting everyone's nerves on edge, though when it yawned open there was no-one to be seen.

The great hall looked to be in shambles with the passing of time, a hole gaping in the ceiling with light pouring over the fallen, broken pillars and rubble across the floor from ceiling rafters that'd broken off and collapsed. Numerous cracks lined the floor, a steady drip of icy water putting a few puddles here and there.

Oddly, aside from the natural light through the collapsing ceiling, there was also a few torches lit here and there, the group starting forward:

"I guess they stocked plenty of oil." Farkas noted, his brother replying:

"Yes, from what I've heard, the Draugr sustain this place to the best of their abilities, although they don't seem to have many architects amongst them."

"I wonder what this place looked like before?" Annie wondered aloud, her usual hard-ass tone a little softer, "I don't think… anyone would even look dead." The Dragonborn supposed it made sense she'd have some kind of affinity: this place had all kinds of dark auras swirling around it, the feeling they were unwelcome and needed to go, but to a godless creature like her, it must feel like home sweet home.

"How long until we start seeing Draugr?" the Nord woman snapped, "I didn't come here to stare at broken pillars and loose stones!"

"Careful what you wish for," Farkas mumbled, "A lot of them will be out looking for the Dragonborn, but according to the stories, they don't take kindly to visitors, and will defend their tombs to the death."

"And not all of them carry swords, there are powerful magicians lurking amongst them as well." Vilkas sighed, looking about.

"Bah, you companions are all the same," the woman snapped as they went across the hall and started working through the narrow, dim halls of the Barrow, "When do you ever think to actually fight?"

"You want a fight, I'll give you one right now!" Vilkas snapped, grabbing his twinblade,

"Enough," Skjor snapped, "This journey is treacherous enough without you two fighting eachother!" they reluctantly put away their weapons, Edmund feeling a little left out, though it was understandable since they were the most skilled senior warriors.

They reached an open chamber, a closed steel portcullis beyond with a lever at the center of the room, Vilkas approaching it,

"Wait!" came a raspy voice, Edmund jumping as Kaiah'lee stepped out from behind him. It was kinda scary how quiet he could really be, the Lizard looking around.

"What is it?" Farkas grumbled,

"The ancient Nords had two nasty habits: burying themselves and their belongings intact, and booby trapping anything they could think of. Isn't a little strange they would put a lever right in the middle of an open room, when the intent is to keep people out?"

"And when did you become an expert of Nordic culture?" Edmund snapped, eyeing the gate beyond and wanting to head out,

"Reading, you should try it sometime. Also, unlike you I've done some spelunking in Nord _and_ Dwemer ruins in my day, granted they were deserted, but I_ know_ what I'm talking about."

"When?" the imperial bit, tired of him pulling new and exciting talents out of his ass, the Argonian cringing,

"Long story, but before we curl up and roast rabbit legs over an open fire…" he pointed to some large silver emblems set within a statue's mouth on the walls, one having broken off, now lying in a pile of rubble on the floor, "_That's_ how we get in, it's a Nordic combination lock, very common in these places, and lucky for us this is one of the less intricate ones."

"I found the pillars!" Vilkas called, looking to the glyphs and pressing the side of the pillar, spinning it while the other Companions got the other two, the Nord woman pulling the lever and grinning as the portcullis rose with a rattle.

"Hmm, I guess you do have your uses, lizard."

"That's not my name!" he called, only to let out a girly squeal and run past her, the group watching him pick up an intact black book and flip it open, "A mint condition copy of _Thief _by Reven, thank you." He slipped the tome into a knapsack at his side, turning to the others, "What?"

Everyone passed by him for a circular pit in the ground, a rickety set of spiral stairs going into the next level down, Annie rolling her eyes.

The imperial felt really claustrophobic alongside everyone else as he went down the circular tunnel, imagining all manner of foul creatures, but when he reached the bottom, all there was to greet them was a pile of dead, rat like creatures, their remains pushed into a corner and frozen solid by Draugr, Skjor's foot making a dull ting against their carcasses and putting a crack in their skin.

"It seems they were quite thorough in their extermination of these pests," Skjor mumbled, "We must be getting close to the crypts, now, everyone stay together and keep an eye open for danger." They went on, staying extra alert as they passed the crumbling stone walls, torches casting a flickering orange glow over the area with a few candles gently burning on their pedestals.

"You seem to pretty comfortable giving orders," the Nord woman grumbled, Skjor shrugging it off,

"15 years in the legion will do that to you: almost made Prefect, but I got a pretty traumatic injury in the war. I got back on my feet eventually, but by then the war was over, and they didn't need me anymore. That's alright, though, I don't always agree with what Kodlak says, but the Companions suit me well, one day I might be Harbinger myself."

"Hopefully, that day is far, far away." Vilkas snipped, though he gave a worried glance to Farkas. Before the dragonborn could wonder what was going on with them, Skjor put his hand up:

"Hold it." they could see a darkened room a ways away, webbing across the walls encasing some Draugr and golden porcelain pots, a few ruptured eggsacks folded at the edges like broken glass.

"More frostbite spiders?" Kaiah'lee voiced, "Lovely."

"We don't know that for sure," Vilkas stated, steeping towards Farkas. Edmund thought the fiery Nord was seeking protection, but it looked to be quite the opposite: the beast of a man Farkas' trembling so badly it could be seen clearly through his pale grey armor, a bleached look on his rugged face.

Vilkas met their judgmental glances with enmity:

"Bad experience, it was years ago but he never got over it-"

"_No,_" Farkas snapped, clearly a little embarrassed, and rightfully so, "I just don't like 'em, too many eyes."

"Whatever it was, it's probably gone now: remember we are in the middle of a Nord barrow." Annie sighed, the troupe stepping into the cavern, though Farkas still had his greatsword out, sweeping it around him and staring in horror at the undead pasted to the walls, and the eggs broken and froze by the Draugr.

One of them saw a body on the ground: webbing pasted to his sides, but multiple puncture marks and stab wounds through his back.

"Looks like the Draugr got him." Skjor observed, the lizard scrutinizing the body with his mercury eyes,

"Yeah, and he was holding something in his left hand, see how the arm is arm is outstretched, and the fingers are curled?"

"And the nostril is hairy?" Annie added,

"Very funny," the lizard said, padding the dark elf down, "now, why would a bunch of angry corpses see fit to take whatever this was?" he hit something he liked, the Argonian drawing a small leather book.

"Personal journal," he noted, flipping through the pages and sending his metallic eyes darting over the page, somehow frowning through his scaly snout, "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean 'uh-oh'?" Annie growled,

"Haven't had the pleasure of popping one of these before, but I've heard of them: apparently the most important barrows were sealed by something called 'a Dragon Claw', which acts like a key to hall of stories."

"Let me guess, without it we can't get in?"

"Unless you can burrow through five feet of Nordic iron and stone." The lizard replied, "But there's no way the Draugr would misplace something like that, we'll just need to hunt it down, assuming nothing goes wrong on the way." Edmund heard a tapping behind him, turning around and feeling his heart stop beating-

"Spider," was all he squeak out, everyone turning just as the sharp crack of insect chitin hitting stone sounded. It was not a hive of frostbite spiders, just a massive one, Farkas shrieking and fleeing back several steps while the others turned to the thing.

A few of his dark, spindly legs had been sheared off, a few thawing bolts of ice still rammed in his sides along with several oozing battle scars torn in his chitin. While hurt, its fangs were the size of longswords, the venom bleaching the stones under his maw as he looked at the potential food.

One bite would guarantee a near instant death, Edmund swinging his sword before him while Skjor drew a shield from his back and lead the charge.

The wounded spider came forward, it's partially severed legs trembling midair as he pounced at the companion, Skjor bringing his shield forward and stopping the beast dead, his fangs scraping down the shield while the others flanked him. Edmund's iron blade hacked at one of the legs, the dragonborn narrowly avoiding one of the flailing limbs.

Though it was organic, the chitin was a few inches thick, hard as stone, Edmund putting all his force into each strike only to see it he halfway through, which is why he was surprised as Skjor wrestled the far larger spider down and stabbed right through his armor into the head, Vilkas' twinblade going in a firm arc and gracefully slicing through two of the four legs on his side, coming around and slicing away the last, the limbs falling cleanly like scissors through a straw.

The beast shrieked, skittering around, only for everyone to pounce on the beast and hack it to death, Edmund grunting as he tore into it harder and harder, until the creature stopped moving, Annie putting a hand over the creature and absorbing his spirit.

"Huh, that went better than expected," Kaiah'lee shrugged, Vilkas joining his brother's side and trying to get him on his feet, though the big guy seemed traumatized by the affair.

"What kind of weapons are those?" Annie asked, putting her heavy axe back on her back, "That's not Titanite is it?"

"Titanite?" The undead sighed, as if it were just _so_ much trouble for her to explain.

"It's a heavy ore from my home country, left to us by a god of blacksmithing. It can be grafted onto any weapon to make it a lot stronger, some are even enchanted." Vilkas laughed. Though he didn't turn, he twisted the edge of his Twinblade to reveal its razor edge, unscathed after going through the thick chitin,

"Hardly, this is Skyforge Steel. It was crafted by Eolund Greymane at Skyforge, that great monument above Jorvaskar?"

"Hmm, I didn't realize that it was that powerful."

"Powerful is quite an understatement: Skyforge was an ancient relic even in the time of Ysgramor, Jorvaskar and the rest of Whiterun were built around it, for any metal bathed in its flame is imbued with strength far beyond your mundane ore, yet light as a feather."

"Well damn, why didn't we get some of those before we left?" Kaiah'lee snickered,

"There wasn't time, and Eorlund Greymane is the only one in Skyrim who can use the forge: its flame is great, but it still takes time and dedication; so, only those of the Circle may commission from him, it has been a tradition for ages." _Figures_ Edmund growled. Such powerful weapons, and of course they had to hold out on them.

The dragonborn knew he wasn't the best just yet, but was it too much to get them to provide him with the right tools?

When Farkas was consoled, they went deeper into the crypt, passing a sort of circular shrine with several candles and burial urns, soul gems set in steel sconces. Where they were going, they were getting close, the troupe getting to the other side of the room and meeting a long, sloping corridor-

"Oh shit…" Annie growled, the group readying themselves as they viewed all the shelves along the walls. Some of them were nothing but skeletons, some of them were wrapped up in heavy parchment, lain to rest, and other places were empty.

But, the vast majority of the shelves were occupied by another beast: grey-blue zombies in full, tarnished iron combat armor, their nicked, battlescared weapons at their side or on their chest, ready to be used. The feeling Edmund had approaching the ruins was many times worse here, the feeling of death and danger looming in the air as thick as the dust clouds floating around.

"Are they dead?" Skjor asked quietly, as if to avoid waking them. Although they were completely still, not even the rise and fall of breathing as they "slept", Annie, a fellow corpse, placed her hand on one's chest, concentrating.

"_No,_" she mumbled, her dark blue eyes glassy in her trance like state, "I sense a soul in them, it's small, but it's there: like an ember."

"I guess they're replenishing themselves after the raid on Whiterun." The lizard guessed, a growl emanating from Farkas as he raised his beast of a greatsword, gazing at the washed out, drying blood at the edge of their blades,

"You bastards, I'll kill you!" He roared, Vilkas stepping in,

"Hold! If we attack one, they may all rise up and attack us,"

"So what?" he growled, the gentleness gone from him, "I'll break every last of them in two."

"If we leave them be, we may be able to get in and out before they awaken, and avoid anymore violence," Vilkas consoled, Farkas continuing to grumble as he reluctantly put his sword away, everyone nervously walking past the rows and rows of dead.

Edmund swore he saw a couple of them moving as he kept his iron sword forward, jerking at every drop of water from the ceiling or moan of wind from the bowels of the mountain, though he didn't see any of the warriors running to attack him yet.

"You have a pretty bad temper for such a soft-spoken guy." Annie noted, plodding along. Farkas seemed indifferent, like he'd heard that many times before:

"Kodlak says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts. I just think I have his temper."

"Farkas is a gentle soul," Vilkas said, "that's not to say he isn't protective of people."

"Mmm hmm." Farkas mumbled, everyone trying to take their minds of the now three dozen or more Draugr crowded in on them, the hallway turning into a chamber held up by a few rough stone pillars, another hall at the far end lit with some lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the forward chambers a honeycomb of shelves for the dead and various embalming tools.

"Better watch out." The lizard said, drawing his crossbow, "remember what I said about the Nords loving their traps." The Nord woman went on ahead,

"All of you need to calm down, a true warrior doesn't need to be so timid." But, as the tension mounted, Edmund caught sight of an odd glyph on the ground ahead, the dragonborn looking over at Kaiah'lee,

"Hey genius, what's that?" The lizard looked over to him, the Nord woman stepping on the rune as she passed-

"Wait, don't touch-" the stones connected to the rune sunk with a soft click, the Nord turning as a massive counterweight snapped-

Edmund barely saw what happened as a net of metal on the wall, barbed to pierce armor, snapped forward, swinging around thrusting her into the wall with a massive boom, her body limp as a doll's as the metal pressed her into the stone, blood pouring from the barbs run through her armor.

As the grate cranked back with the sound of grinding machinery, the Nord's eyes rolled into her head, falling forward with blood trailing from her head. Edmund ran for her, Kaiah'lee calling for them to avoid the runes, as they marked Nord traps, when Edmund head another sound-

The creak of old, dried limbs filled the chamber, metal scraping over stone as their eyes went to the walls, where the Draugr's blue eyes had opened, the warriors pulling themselves from their resting places, theirs eyes going down the long, long path where they came from, all the dead they passed-

"Spread out!" Skjor barked, the Circle taking the corners while Annie and Kaiah'lee took point, Edmund unsure what to do as the woman lay broken at his feet, the dragonborn crouching down and finding her breathing, but deeply unconscious, blood continuing to well from inside her armor as the crack in her head wept.

Edmund pulled a large, ruby red flask of viscous liquid from his pack, clumsily making her swallow it as the sounds of clashing blades and rent armor filled the chamber, Edmund looking over his shoulder at the maelstrom and making little sense of all the chaos, save that they were tearing through the undead with a great deal of ease, the Draugr's archaic weapons reflecting from the Companion's Skyforged armor, but there was at least a hundred of them, and as more fell the rest were only putting up stiffer resistance.

The imperial looked from the army to the hall ahead of him, his blood cooling as the sounds of awakening Draugr trailed to him, the blue eyes of numerous undead emerging from the dark, making their way towards him with their weapons drawn.

The dragonborn slapped the woman upside the head as the blood begun to subside, her wounds sealing, but her eyes still wouldn't open, her skin pale and unresponsive as she moaned to herself.

She wouldn't be on her feet for awhile yet, and the Companions were busy, Edmund trying to wrestle the woman's monstrous sword from under her limp body, but all he managed to do was make his back ache as the slab of steel slowly ground from under her thick platemail.

The dragonborn gave up, dropping the hilt and lifting his plain iron blade, stepping towards the Draugr. The hall was narrow over here, forcing them to line up on him one or two at a time, the first one swinging for the imperial.

Edmund ducked, grunting as he rammed his blade through the Draugr's stomach, recoiling as the one behind him nearly sliced his head open, the Dragonborn stumbling a second as the one he stabbed lumbered forward unhindered, Edmund figuring he had to aim for the head like the old spook stories said.

He lunged his sword forward, the Draugr raising his shield and deflecting the attack, the Dragonborn's blade getting wedged into the soft wood. A deathly pain went through the Dragonborn, his body retching as he glanced down, the Draugr's sword rammed through him.

Edmund let up a yelp as the ragged iron blade shredded the flesh, the undead sharply pulling it out and laughing roughly as the Dragonborn jumped away, pulling his sword free. The pain was nearly unbearable, the edge stinging ferociously as chips of black, tarnished metal lay stuck inside him, every move agony, but his body still reacted when the undead came forward in a slash, Edmund narrowly stepping around the enfeebled corpse and plunging his sword through the side of his neck-

Turning as another with a waraxe slashed his shoulder open, tearing over his bicep and splitting the muscles like a cleaver though meat. The dragonborn withdrew, taking his sword with him and nearly fainting as he felt his own blood pouring over his front, the Draugr marching over their fallen brother without a care.

The undead came in to slice Edmund open again, the dragonborn batting his axe aside with his sword and somehow finding the Draugr's throat, slicing a little off the front, before pushing him back and stabbing him through again.

Edmund and the Draugr toppled to the ground, the dragonborn looking up at the boots of the undead beyond and pushing himself up, an iron grieve kicking Edmund hard in his wounded shoulder and sending a black blotch into his vison, the imperial barely feeling himself fall on his back.

A towering undead grasping a greenish, paled bow drew back and fired an arrow, Edmund skittering back enough that it missed his head, but got buried in his sternum, the wind getting knocked from him as he continued to kick himself backwards frantically, his heart feeling like it would burst as he was shot a second time, this one hitting his stomach, until he found himself looking at the mouth of the hall, the undead entering the chamber and fanning out around him and the woman.

They all raised their weapons, prepared to plunge, when the flash of steel swept over his eyes, the Draugr groaning as they were knocked from their feet, severed at the hit, Farkas bounding over Edmund and bending his great shoulders back, snapping around for a second great sweep and cleaving the other row of Draugr, finishing with a great, vaguely clumsy thrust through the Draugr at the threshold and stepping him, driving his blade through the Draugr behind the first and toppling them, plugging up the hall.

A bolt went over his head and struck one of the lanterns- a porcelain vase of burning oil- and shattered it, the companion withdrawing as the flaming liquid was dumped on their heads, sending them reeling as the oil under their feet and down the chamber ignited, a great wave of heat blowing down the corridor and filling it with a chorus of groaning dead.

Edmund looked around, groggily sitting up on his knees, his head swimming as he looked around, the last of the ferocious warriors getting cut down by a few of the companions, the battle already won.

"Hold still," Farkas said, "You're bleeding badly, or…" He stopped, Edmund hearing the clunk of wood hitting the floor as the arrows impaled in him were pressed out along with the blade shards, the blood glowing white hot and evaporating off him as the wounds pressed closed, though it felt a lot slower than when he defeated Mirmulnir, his strength returning rapidly as the last of his injuries healed.

"That's something you don't see everyday, I guess you're alright afterall." Someone coughed, the woman getting up from the dirt and shaking her head,

"Ohh, what happened?"

"Damn Draugr ambushed us when you triggered that damn trap, but they're gone now." There was something of a faint boom as countless souls streamed into Annie, the undead walking to them.

"Hopefully this is the brunt of them, or else it'll get really tiring fighting all these bastards."

"Hard to say," The lizard shrugged, "these barrows run anywhere between a single crypt to an entire city with several smaller crypts inside."

"Great." Annie grumbled, "We'd better stay here and let _Edmund_ get his rest." The dragonborn would have bit her head off if he had the energy.

Was it too much to ask she give him a fucking break with the goddamned attitude? It wasn't his fault he got stomped because he hadn't been a battle hardened war-bitch from birth, what the fuck was her problem?

Nonetheless, everyone took the opportunity to lick their wounds, looking out for any more undead, though they seemed to be put down well for now.

After some time, the Nord woman got up, her wounds not that serious, despite how ugly it looked,

"Hey," Edmund offered, "you were pretty hurt, but I saved you!"

"I don't want to hear it," she growled, "its humiliation enough I stepped into that trap." _Fine then…_

"So what's your name, anyway?" he just glared at him for a time, finally responding,

"Uthgerd, the Unbroken." She muttered, "now leave me be. I don't _need _you." There was a period of quiet, until the word was given to head forward, deeper into the catacombs.

* * *

The way was paved with an endless row of scorched Draugr, their papery skin burnt like kindling as the lamp oil, allowed to leak all across the floor in hopes of catching an intruder, was prematurely lit. It seemed they were highly attuned to ice, but didn't agree with flames so much.

The whole way through the long, deep corridors, endlessly paved with Draugr, the group stabbing any still on their slabs to ensure they didn't stand again, Edmund cursed his own weakness.

How? Why was he so weak when the others were so strong? He knew he had a great power, he was the dragonborn, yet nothing clicked, even the small blade at his side felt gawky and alien in his fingers. What was he supposed to do if he felt disarmed at all times?

At the end of the burial chambers, the stone gave way to a natural cave, the darkened silt mixed in with minerals and stones polished by natural, underground streams, everyone resting a little easier as they bathed in the glow of the fluorescent mushrooms and encountered a minimal amount of resistance on the path.

When they got through the cave, passing under a waterfall near the land bridge they were taking, sunlight shining down the narrow chasm, they entered another crypt, only this one was entirely deserted, all the coffins yawning open with the shelves barren of their inhabitants.

"They must have left," Skjor surmised, "If we hurry, we may be able to miss them." No-one objected to the plan, having a few nights of sleep deprivation and extended labor weighing on them. Taking the quick and easy way out seemed very appealing at the moment. Their only resistance came at the end of a great, ceremonial chamber, the group opening a door, and viewing a truly fascinating sight:

It was a long, barren corridor lined with numerous candles on silver mounts, the wall broken into segments by arches embedded in the chamber at precise intervals, the panels containing deep, intricate carvings of the ancient past, men worshipping dragons, great figures with hands unleashing the arcane into the sky, masks of varying design on their face.

At the far end was a great door with a strange handprint at the center, the tops of three great stone rings visible above the sturdy iron plate, each one holding a great silver emblem at the top, so three lined up on one another.

But, an unguarded door was too much to ask for, the group spying a figure hunched up at the center of the door, completely limp with his head tucked in between his folded legs, arms limp to his side. But, they knew better than to assume he was dead.

The Draugr were little more than animated corpses at this point, but they still had awareness of their surroundings, and could do from dormant to extremely deadly in a very short span of time, as they had learned the hard way.

This one wore rugged armor across his chest, a great helm with spiral horns protecting his head on all sides. They had noticed that the armaments of the Draugr were not random at all, but seemed to be a mark of status, just as a living army would have-

This was the first time they had seen one with those horns. Alone. With no weapons to be seen.

"This one must be pretty dangerous… sitting at the gate like that." Vilkas muttered, "What should we do?"

Kaiah'lee stepped forward with his crossbow, loading one of the many arrows he'd stolen from the Draugr off the ground and lining up a shot.

"You may be accomplished, but you need to hit him in the head, and he's wearing that thick iron helm with his face down," Skjor noted, "And those arrows won't aim well in that weapon."

"You're probably right," The Argonian mumbled, "but I can get his attention and lure him into a blind corner." He fired, the arrow flying through the air and hitting the wall near his head, the arrow breaking on the stone and bouncing back over the ground noisily.

There was only silence for a moment,

"Come on, take the bait." Kaiah'lee murmured, the Draugr stirring in place and working himself up to his feet, his eyes glowing. They stayed low, looking around the corner and watching his horned helm glancing about, intently looking on the exit, where all was still.

All was going well, until he brought his hand to his side, clenching it and grunting as he gathered a ball of intense, violet energy, thrusting his palm out and unleashing a burst of the arcane, the spell hitting the ground and making a great bang, an unsettling feeling radiating out as a great figure rose from the misty portal, gaining form.

"What the fuck is that?" Annie growled, the figure, just ahead of the Draugr Sorcerer, making faint crackling sounds as he moved, his feet making a hollow thunk with each step.

It, or if you wanted, he, was easily twice as tall as his conjurer, his whole body comprised of icy crags, from his pointed hands to his stumps for legs, his head a conical jag with a macabre face deep within, if one looked hard enough.

"That would be a Frost Atronach," the lizard muttered, "It's basically a cuter, cuddlier Deadra: baby's first artificial demon."

"How bad?"

"Well, you have a big mean Ice Golem paired with a little mean magician, so not good." They quieted, retreating to the sides as he drew closer, Edmunds nerves getting jacked up higher and higher as the footsteps grew louder and louder.

They came at it from the sides when it got to the threshold, Farkas and Uthgerd's blades swinging in tandem and hitting the Atronach hard in the core, staggering him back.

But- even with Skyforged steel, the Atronach's flesh was hard as stone, a slab of him breaking off and hitting the floor, shattering, but he seemed unphased as he drew his arms up and smashed the ground, the two diving to the side as he lumbered out, Vilkas hitting him with his twinblade, though the Skyforge steel did little more than scratch him as he brought his arm back and lunged, his pointed spine nearly impaling the Companion.

But, that was only half of their worries as the sorcerer came from the side and targeted Edmund, the dragonborn throwing himself to the side to evade the pike of frost, the bladed ice whirling past at frightful speed. Ice or not, a hit from that would be fatal.

Annie came for the Undead, the vanguard stepping away and thrusting his palm out, a burst of ice pouring out for her as Kaiah'lee came from the side, lunging out and stabbing him through the side of the neck, the Draugr falling.

The Atronach moaned, his body seeming to come unglued as numerous cracks sped up his body, breaking him apart and sending him crumbling to the ground. They all took a collective sigh of relief.

"See," The lizard huffed, "With a little teamwork, you can do anything!"

"Yeah, let's not." Annie muttered, kneeling down and draining the body of a large cloud of souls, lifting a model of a dragon's hand cast in solid gold, from his side, "This will open the door at the end, right?"

"In theory." He shrugged, the group stepping through the impressive hall of stories and standing before the great stone door. Kaiah'lee reached his hand to his side, taking the Claw from Annie, "Now, the journal said that when you possess the claw, the answer is in the palm of your hand, so…"

He upturned it, a set of runes set on the palm, the lizard turning the rings until the set was matched, the lizard pressing the claw into the handprint at the center. The golden nails dug into the holes, a click sounding as it was put into place, the disk pressing in and turning with a grind of dust and machinery.

Kaiah'lee jumped away as the door made a great noise, the rings completely realigning as the weights within the door unlocked, the door clicking as it slowly crept down, before smoothly sliding into the floor, resting at the bottom.

Ahead was another natural cavern, an uncanny still lingering before them. The place had a bad vibe to it this entire time, but it all seemed to radiate from the room before them. This had to be the inner sanctum.

They proceeded with care, numerous bats fluttering past them with a screech upon being disturbed, the ancient haven falling apart with age, though it's power felt stronger than ever. As they came through the sound of running water marking an underground stream, beyond the low moan of wind, they at last saw the Dragonwall:

The monument was even grander than Farengar had so enthusiastically explained:

It was high in the air, looming far above with the dark, iron symbol of the dragons leering down, the wall concave and wide, like an embrace. As they got closer to the shine built at its base, Edmund could make out a net of carvings that resembled intricate scratch marks. They seemed to be nonsense, yet there was an odd order about them-

As he stared closer, her fell into a trance, somehow compelled to continue forward as voice echoed through his head. He felt attuned to this wall somehow, its power calling him even as the others wondered what was happening.

They were letters, every one. The scratches were a language, a dragon language-

As Edmund read the word wall, he felt an intense pain in his core and head, much like when he heard the voice of the Draugr, the letters seeming to nail into his brain with every syllable, yet he couldn't stop reading, his lips mumbling it in separate voices and languages to everyone's mild surprise:

_HET NOK FaaL VahLOK_

Here lies the guardian

_DeiNMaaR DO DOVAahGOLZ_

Keeper of dragonstone

_ahRK aaN __**FUS **__DO UNSLaaD_

_And a __**force**__ of unending_

_RahGOL ahRK VULOM _

Rage and darkness

Edmund stopped reciting, feeling a little feint as he caught his breath, the voices in his head seeming to quiet as he ingested the knowledge, the power of the wall that powered the Draugr sending an invisible string of energy into him.

"Unending rage and darkness, huh?" Kaiah'lee laughed dryly, the Dragonborn recovering,

"Where did you learn to read the Dragon language?" Vilkas asked, confounded,

"I don't know, I just… it just came to me?"

"Um… guys," Annie asked nervously, an instant warning sign something was seriously wrong, "What was that about 'the Keeper of the Dragonstone', again?" They looked where she was pointed, noticing the great slab of the sarcophagus they passed had unbolted, sliding down into the floor to reveal the stone they had been looking for.

But, it was embedded into the core of a great plate of ancient steel, pulsing with magika. The carrier of the great shield leaned forward in his rest, rumbling as he stepped from his coffin and drew his sword to the side, his worn grieves clacking as he stepped out.

He seemed different from the others they had seen so far… his armor, unlike the patches they had seen the other's wear, was entirely crafted of heavy mail, and covered his whole body, his helm topped with the great, arched horns of some old beast. It also seemed far more ornate, with a plated surcoat and carved dragons upon his shoulder plates, his upper arms resembling a chain of scales.

His movements were smooth, his face and the few parts of his skin exposed, namely through the great hole his stomach, where the base of his bare spine and ribs were, black and waterlogged, his blue eyes far dimmer and more intense as he gazed on them, his groomed beard rustling under his chin.

They were all, understandably, terrified as he drew his long, tarnished kilij from his side, the enchanted surface fogging with ice.

"This one is different than the others." Annie warned, the Draugr standing patiently,

"A Nord hero of old," Skjor grumbled, "the others must've been his foot soldiers from centuries ago."

"We won't gain anything standing here, let's go!" Uthgerd cried, charging for the ancient soldier, who merely shifted in place. As she swung for him, his long iron blade sprung from his side, his narrow, slashing blade denting her own greatsword, the shift of his shoulder throwing it aside as he rammed her side with his shield, knocking the fully armored warrior off her feet with a noticeable dent on her armor-

The other's came at him all at once, Farkas' sword striking the broadside of his shield while he used his blade to knock Annie's axe into the path of Vilkas' twinblade, pushing both weapons off-course as Kaiah'lee took a shot, the warrior tensing his legs and leaping back out of the way, tumbling to his feet.

It seemed he was not only enormously stronger than the warriors, but he was also highly dexterious compared to the other Draugr, when he took a breath-

"Watch out!" Edmund screamed-

"_Fus'rodah (force ? ?)_!" The Draugr bellowed, the bubble of force cracking the floor as he blew all but a few warriors off their feet, their forms tumbling over the ground and smashing on the dragonwall, Edmund narrowly dodging aside to avoid being struck himself.

The snap of a crossbow marked Kaiah'lee's bolt as it flew to the open face of the Draugr's helm-

His tarnished blade rung as it drew up, catching the arrowhead and knocking the bolt skyward, the thing spinning midair as it came back down and bounced across the ground, the warrior looking up to the sniper with a harsh gleam in his eyes.

"That did not work…" he gulped as the Draugr ran towards him, though the rogue was up on the high ground, a set of stairs that lead to above the dragonwall. The warrior stopped short, poising himself to jump-

"_Wuld'Nah_!" He shouted as leapt, his form blurring as his momentum was somehow magnified, launching him straight to the rogue, who back flipped away from the long, arced sword just before he lost his head.

Kaiah'lee, from what Edmund could see as he ran towards Farkas' prone form and demanded he wake up, threw a knife at the knight, the Draugr's shield blocking the projectile as he ran for the lizard, who drew his swords and came back towards him.

He tried to slip in under the Draugr's defense, but ran face first into his greatshield, the mass of metal jumping aside as the warrior dropped his elbow upon the rogue-

The lizard dropped down to avoid the hit, rolling down the stairs as the Draugr flipped his sword around and plunged, the tip driving into the stone, Kaiah'lee somehow correcting himself midroll and getting to his feet, looking right into the charging Draugr-

The lizard had no time to come up with an attack, as the Draugr's momentum moving down the stairs was too great,

"_Wuld!_" he blew forward, the lizard jumping aside to evade the hit, the blade tearing through his side and knocking him off the steps, his form bouncing down the rocks with a noticeable grunt. He leaned up, holding himself as his body hissed sharply with the Hist, some mystic Argonian power.

He glanced up, yelping and jumping aside as the Draugr came down with his shield, the base of the arcane guard ramming into the ground and splitting the rock.

Edmund noticed how close he now was, continuing to shake Farkas, who moaned and blinked his eyes, slowly getting up. The warrior's caught in the blast were pretty smashed up, without armor and extensive training the impact would have definitely been fatal. They were in no shape to stand anytime soon.

Skjor ran past Edmund, who drew his iron sword and went alongside him, though he didn't know how much help he could be with Kaiah'lee withdrawing. This thing was a goddamn monster! Even moreso than all the other Draugr, and his skill with that huge blade and shield was ridiculous.

The Draugr looked between Skjor and the rogue a split second, charging up another shout-

"FO'KRAhDIiN_!_" Edmund and Skjor leapt to opposite sides as his voice blew out, turning to a cloud of dense mist that blew along the path before him. Edmund moved as fast as he could, the mist spraying over his arm and leg at the edge.

He instantly felt an incredible pain in the limbs, grunting as a feeling like infinite needles bit into his muscles, toppling. When the incredible pain started to numb, the muscles went white and slack, the dragonborn fighting to move them, but they wouldn't respond, like they were no longer attached as they turned bleach white and faded.

His rapid healing took effect as soon as the damage was set, Skjor grunting as his Skyforged armor wrapped with frost and froze to his skin, Skjor dropping a sword and clutching his arm, though the metal entombing it would not cool for awhile.

The legendary Draugr labored to "breathe", though Edmund doubted he actually needed oxygen to live, the figure leaning down and shifting in place.

Edmund had no idea what could take the wind out of the undead… maybe it was those shouts? The jarl's brother had said something about his voice, and now he felt like he could suddenly comprehend that language of theirs to a degree.

Kaiah'lee swept around the undead, Edmund watching him lunge up from behind and stab him in the base of the skull, the blade making a tink as it hit an unseen armor plate, the Draugr turning on the Argonian and promptly bringing his arm back to thrust, Kaiah'lee flipping back away as Skjor came from the other side with his remaining arm.

Edmund got up, stretching and feeling his arm terribly sore, but operational as he came at the Draugr Warlord, who turned on his feet and, rather than block the rogue, brought his shield back and rammed him with all he had while he crossed blades with Skjor.

Kaiah'lee dropped his swords, coughing dark blood from his scaly maw, yelping as warlord brought his shield up and crushed the Argonian's toes, throwing Skjor, trying hard to break through, off his a jerk of his shoulder, bringing his shield around like a maul with a whoosh and smashing him hard in the torso, knocking him away.

Even as the others started to recover and stood up in a stupor, it seemed clear to the Dragonborn they were not going to prevail fighting him in the open like this, his fatigue already grinding his thoughts to a standstill, even with his Dragonborn healing and stamina.

He came face to face with the fighter, the figure still human, yet towering over the frail imperial by a head and a half with all his grotesque horror and power, the warlord looking down on him and letting a scratchy sound escape his leathery gullet.

The Dragonborn stung, as he was laughable in the face of the juggernaut, reeling away as the Draugr stepped forward, looming over him. He went for a thrust, the Draugr batting his sword from his hand with minimal effort, Edmund's finger's sore at trying to hold on, the pain replaced by an intense burning over his chest as he was slashed open, the master swordsmen leading one move into the next effortlessly as he stepped in, Edmund afraid to turn his back for even an instant yet unable to protect himself as he ran backwards, taking more and more shallow cuts.

His foot stepped into nothingness, falling from the stairs onto his back, splashing some sediment onto himself as the Draugr loomed over him-

He went to scream, but what he uttered was far from-

"_Fus!_" He shouted as hard as he could, drawing the word out and feeling all his energy draining, like his very essence was being siphoned, the Draugr stumbling back a few steps as the voice faded. Even with his immense strength, the Dovahkiin's voice was overwhelming-

A sword came through his front, the Skyforge steel blade finally tearing through his armor. Annie stood behind him, drawing the blade and bringing it down in another massive slash from his shoulder to his hip, ripping him open. The warlord fell forward with a dull clang, dazed a moment before putting his hands down and pushing himself up. Annie growled as she speared right below his helmet, pinning him down, though he still showed resistance. Finally, his spine crunched as the undead gave a strong twist, his corpse falling limp-

The blue of his eyes faded, a strong gale of power enveloping Annie as she held out her hand, the energy all condensing into a single mass, which ignited into a brilliant aura. It was a dark, azure blue color, black beads and fog seeping from it as it hummed in her hand, neither a true solid, liquid, or gas.

Edmund's chest started to hurt, turning from a dull throb to a crushing burn, Edmund pressing his hands over his ribs, feeling like the whole cage just caved in as they coated with nicks and fissures, the dragonborn gasping for breath as his lungs collapsed, though he repeated, choked inhales drew on nothing, his vision flashing as he collapsed, blacking out the instant his broken ribs hit the ground and blinded him with agony-

* * *

Soundtrack:

The Cave: Dark Souls II OST – Sinh, The Slumbering Dragon

Bleak Falls Barrow: Fallout 3 OST – Dungeon 2 (Dunwich Building)

The Draugr Crypt: Fallout 3 OST – Dungeon 4 (Dunwich Forsaken Ruins)

Tense battle: Dark Souls II OST – Velstadt, the Royal Aegis

Through the caves: Skyrim OST – Silent Footsteps

Scourge of the Barrow: Sword Art Online OST – We have to defeat it

Bleak Falls Inner Sanctum: Midnight Syndicate – Stone Guardians

Ancient Guardian: Hellkite Drake – Frozen Plains (Re-orchastrated)


	8. Guardian Stones

A/N: Yes it has been far too long, and yes this chapter isn't a super mega long one. Hosen is Stoopid

* * *

For a long moment, caught in a silent reverie within herself, Annie gazed into the soul she cradled in her hands. It seemed the original nature was that a brilliant azure blue, but it had been tainted by dark during his long, long undeath.

His soul had to be ancient and incredibly strong to have remained intact upon death, Annie watching the mass pulse and flutter, her knowledge of the soul arts letting her read it as the soul of a Legendary Hero, who fought many battles through his long life, including in the dragon war, and remained faithful in his slumber, guarding the Dragon Stone, which was now embedded in the greatshield at his side.

It seemed to her, as the Companions struggled to their feet, shaking off the frost and trying to recover after their beating at the hands of Hjorstein, that the Draugr had been fatigued by the battle the day before, much like they were, and awoke in a tired state. Had he been at full strength, and been able to execute more of those strange shouts, he would have overpowered them for sure.

She stored the precious, immense soul in herself for safe keeping, Annie letting the mass- like mercury as it flowed like a liquid yet retained its own shape- slide from her hand into her chest, Annie shivering as the mass swirled around within her, before receding, her frosty blue eyes resting on the greatshield with the archaic stone within.

Experience told her the undead were prone to everything conceivable going wrong on a given mission, clouding her mind with doubt the stone would give them the information they needed, or it would be legible after all this time, but if the dragon's would go out of their way to appoint such a brutal and formidable adversary to guard it, there had to be something of value there.

But, there was another, far more dependable item that drew her attention, the undead lifting the warlord's long, arched sword form the ground. It was a very thick and dense metal, the tip dipping a little, her hand shivering and going white under the sheets of icy froth seeping from the surface.

With grace becoming the undead, who graverobbed as freely as breathed, she retrieved the sheathe for the enchanted blade.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a moan, her vision turning to Edmund, who'd stunned the Draugr long enough to for her to attack, though the very notion the self-entitled twat won her the battle infuriated her. That indignation dissipated when she saw his sightless eyes staring at the ground, his body wrenching and heaving up blood before he fell face forward, still-

She discarded her borrowed Skyforge steel blade and ran up to him, Kaiah'lee close behind with the other Companions on their feet, rubbing their heads and drawn towards the noise.

The undead flipped him onto his back, feeling for a pulse only for the dragonborn to wretch again, his throat filling with blood, making Kaiah'lee turn the dragonborn's head sideways to let it escape.

"His ribs are shattered," He surmised in an instant, his metallic eyes darting around in their erratic yet profoundly analytical way, "and his muscles have to be torn to ribbons, as well."

"What happened to him?" Farkas half shouted,

"It was that shout, it had to be!" Vilkas returned, "he shouldn't have been able to do such a thing in the first place, how…"

"That's not important, how do we fix him?"

"Okay, everyone just calm down a moment." The lizard shrugged, "So long as his body doesn't sustain any more damage, it should fix itself- look." The blood stopped dripping from Edmund's mouth, the crimson ichor matted in his hair turning white hot and evaporating into the air as his chest begun to rise and fall deeper and stronger, a sound like crumpling leaves moaning through his throat as his bones started to stitch together.

"Amazing, his body is indestructible." Skjor marveled, "We could have used a hundred of him in the great war." He frowned, noticing Edmund would not wake up, looking for the entrance and taking a paranoid gulp, "We have to leave immediately. The Draugr from the lower crypts could return at any time. We'd be completely trapped, and none of us can handle another battle."

Annie nodded. She'd used her Estus to recover her strength, after being knocked off her feet and busted up by the shout without any armor, but the others were a mess: their eyes puffy with their hair matted and stuck out every which way, a droop in their stature from the near 36 hours with no sleep, and no way to recover as she, or the dragonborn, could being simple humans-

Farkas lumbered to the dead warlord on the ground, drawing the massive shield from his arm, as the stone seemed fixed between the metal plates at the edges, and settling it on his shoulder, the beastly man a little off balanced by the weight-

"Does anyone have the Dragon Claw?" Vilkas asked, the lizard retrieving the thing,

"Right here."

"Alright, let's get moving, Annie, you take the Edmund." She raised an eyebrow,

"Excuse me?"

"He cannot walk on his own, and you're the only one strong enough to carry him right now. Besides, you should consider it your maternal duty-"

"Like fuck it is!" she bit, stunning the warrior, "I'm not obligated to do shit!" Vilkas sighed, seeing his mistake and clearing his throat as she crossed her arms, the undead tapping her foot in irritation,

"Alright, then consider it your duty: as one comrade assisting another when they are injured."

"But-"

"Annie," Farkas grumbled, though his big, teddy bear eyes were adorable enough to earn him some lenience, "We're all helping eachother here, there's no shame in it." She bore her canine at him, but resigned to a heavy sigh:

"Alright, I'll do it." The others were already starting off when she bent down on one knee, sliding her hands under him and pulling him up off the floor, shifting a bit to get him positioned right as she walked off, a deep red blush on her cheeks.

This was dead embarrassing: he barely did anything the whole fight, got himself hurt by own great strength, now she had to carry him back through the dungeon so he could peacefully get some fucking beauty sleep in?

And since she caved and agreed to carry his sorry ass in place of the others, who really weren't in fighting shape, she had to be ashamed for the both of them. But of course, how could they ever understand how shameful working with and helping stupid humans was in the first place, since they weren't undead.

Eventually, more to preserve her sanity than anything else, she just focused on the trip ahead, balancing the weight in her arms, though the thought of dropping him and seeing if he could sleep through a tumble down the cliff face seemed most amusing.

She missed others like her. She missed Vachst and missed not having to do shit like this…

* * *

It seemed all the sleep had caught up to the undead, as Annie awoke from the first full night of sleep in a long time. Being an undead did have one perk as Annie sat up in place, getting to her feet and stretching her joints.

She may be mentally taxed, but she felt perfectly fine thanks to her Estus. Sadly, the charge yesterday was near all she had, and without a bonfire lit by the bones of fallen Hollows, she had no way to refill her flask, or burn up massive vortex of souls floating around within her bosom in order to enhance her strength.

She'd been very lucky to have held up for this long without dying again, but she couldn't count on that forever. As an undead one slip could kill her, and while she hadn't seen any hostile undead or Demon's in Skyrim thus far, she couldn't count on living very long if she did.

Annie hadn't seen a matured demon herself, but the stories tell of Souls so great their power can scarce be imagined, that even the strongest, most agile, most cunning amongst the undead would barely constitute an annoyance, let alone a threat. Even with a dead dragon under her belt, Annie wasn't enthusiastic to run a demon down.

When she'd finished getting herself ready, Annie slid into her armor, which she needed to consider getting fixed up, as it'd started to fall apart under its constant abuse from her exploits, and grabbed her axe, emerging into the dark, empty inn.

She would have been perfectly fine crashing in Alvor's basement again, but when the entire adventuring party came down from the mountain, it seemed clear there wasn't going to be enough room. So, they ended up staying in the Sleeping Giant Inn on the other side of town while the blacksmith kept the priceless Dragonstone and Golden Claw under close watch.

Just when she let it sink in she couldn't pay for goods and services in Souls and she had yet to make contact with any of her Undead brethren, Delphine, the Innkeeper, let them stay free of charge, said it was her duty as a citizen of Skyrim. Apparently, news of the fall of Whiterun and Helgen was spreading like wildfire alongside a fit of hysteria, and anyone who survived was being taken care of, if their hosts could manage.

While it would take a few months for the couriers to bring the news to every corner of the province, the fall of a large village and an entire Hold Capitol, with undead soldiers and Dragons roaming the countryside had finally gotten people to give a shit and notice their precious little country was fucked.

The undead took a seat at one of the longtables, the smell of soot reminding her of home as she yawned, her ears perking at a few footsteps from the side, her attention sliding to the Innkeeper's assistant, it seemed, the man giving a long yawn as he held a lantern in one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other.

"You're up early."

"I don't sleep much." She shrugged, feeling a little restless, as all undead were as she watched him go around the room and start lighting the fires, illuminating the room as well as setting a blaze under the long cooking spit at the center of the main floor, smoke trailing to the vaulted ceiling.

All the while, she couldn't help but notice him casting uneasy glances at her, finally popping the question when he was done making the rounds,

"Hey, is it true that you're one of them? The Undead, like the ones that attacked the town a few days ago, before all this started?"

"No, me and the Draugr are nothing alike, except that we don't die stay dead long." Annie muttered back, though his tone seemed genuinely curious, rather than prejudiced as he started straitening the tables and getting the food from storage, preparing breakfast for the other guests, asking questions all the way:

"What happened?" It hurt the young undead to remember, especially since she, just like every other undead, were scared by hollowing. Even a single death was highly traumatic, making her past a little fuzzy to her, the images blurry, but she remembered the important things, and how it _felt_-

"There isn't much to say, I haven't been undead for very long," she gulped, the memories very bitter, "Anyone with humanity, is susceptible to the curse, since it is part of the Dark, but you don't know you have it until you die for the first time. We don't know when it hits, or why, or how it spreads. But we know there is no cure and it can effect mass numbers of people without warning, it seems to be drawn to large groups first-"

"Yes, but, what happened to you?"

"Um." Shit, why was it so damn hard? "I-"

"If you're uncomfortable with it, I'll-"

"No, it's fine." She snapped, "There just isn't much to say. I grew up in a fairly regular village, I had… a family, I think. It's hard to remember, and since we're always fighting other people, we tend to move parent to parent. I was probably just another orphan..."

The next part she remembered very clearly, "I remember a large storm hitting the land, and everything getting broken up, and shattered. A flood came through the trees and tore everything apart, I tried to run but it caught me… it's… I just remember waking up in a fire. It didn't hurt me anything until I had left it, and that's really it. After I became undead, I was exiled from the kingdom alongside all the other undead, for the sake of all the humans who haven't turned yet. There a lot of places for us to live, but I wanted to, I don't know what I wanted… I just, I have to defeat the Abyss and those who opened it, I don't want to be afraid of hollowing anymore, but I can't be human again." Her speech stuttered to a halt as she grew conflicted and confused…

What did she really want? She had all this anger inside, but she hardly remembered, what was her purpose? Undead who wander without purpose are doomed to Hollow, even if they don't die, the Undead who wandered alone were truly lost… like her.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the innkeeper said, breaking Annie from her trance, "I don't know if it will help, but maybe you should visit the Guardian stones."

"Guardian Stones?" He nodded,

"They are a sacred relic from ages ago, built by the ancient Nords to guide wayfarers. There are a handful scattered all across Skyrim, far away from people, but there is a collection of three near the village we call the Guardian Stones. No-one's been there in a long time, but it is said, for some, they will grant strength in a time of need."

Annie had to think about that for a moment. That was all fine and good, but she wasn't a part of this culture, fuck, she really wasn't a part of this species. But, she supposed it was too early to eat or travel for everyone else, and the Undead had a sort of nostalgic fascination with old things: that which came before was a lot more certain than what may come after…

* * *

It seemed almost the whole town was asleep as Annie made her way down the cobblestone road, watching a few early-wakers, mostly farmers catching daylight, heading about in the dewy morning, paying her little mind as they went about their work, the Undead heading down the street with her axe over her shoulder.

A birds were already starting to flit around the trees as the sun crested the mountains which seemed to rise on every horizon, shades of brilliant starburst and red radiating over the evergreen forests, meeting a dark violet with a few pale moons, where the night sky still held on a little.

Despite feeling a little weary, the Undead still felt a little pacified by the lands around her. This country was, at least for the time being, still relatively peaceful and safe. But, at the same time she felt in her heart that was a lie: the Abyss was extending its icy tendrils into the land with each passing moment, and even without the threat of the Dark and whatever consequences may come of it, Dragons were taking to the skies and Draugr were on the march, and when they decided the Dragonborn wouldn't be found in the plains, they would likely hit Riverwood first, especially when…

Annie's breath caught, though she continued on her way, down the path, deviating at a forested, densely wooded path near overtaken with brambles and weeds.

When they returned to the Barrow to rest, and saw the rows of fallen brethren, including the Keeper of the Dragonstone, with the artifact itself missing, they would _know_ he was here.

It seemed even moving in a small group as to draw less attention would not stop it: Riverwood was doomed if they couldn't find an army, and she couldn't well pull one out of her ass or expect the next Hold over to supply one fast enough.

With a heavy heart she pressed her way through the brambles and pushes. There had to be a way, somehow, she couldn't lose hope, even if she felt torn apart from the inside out with guilt, as hopelessness settled in.

As she came down the path, a sound caressed her ears, which she disregarded for a moment, as she was following near the riverside in the dense forest and distracted herself watching the light dancing on the surface of the water and fish splashing around, but as she drew further, it became more and more distinct.

It was like a fire, but not at the same time: a long, continual but uneven hum. Annie broke through the dense foliage with the stroke of her borrowed axe, finding the stones. They were set on a large, circular platform overlooking the flowing water, though age had not treated it well.

The same could be said of the three stone pillars, roughly conical in shape, though smoothed down: they were encased in a frame of enchanted, ancient Nord steel, a hole through the top part with a carving down the center, though they were slightly marred by the coats of spongey moss and creeping vines, as well as erosion from ages of rain.

One was engraved with the mark of a great brute carrying a mighty axe, covered with plated armor. One was engraved with a lightly padded, shrouded rogue bearing a slender shortsword, seeming to leap around the stone. And the last was one of an old, wise man, bearing aloft a staff of elements with lighting all around his figure.

They reminded her of the Boletarian Archstones, and something a little closer to home, though she couldn't place it.

But, it seemed another monument, this one to the dead, had entered the sanctuary: centered on the platform was a pile of white, glossy bones, a ceremonial blade coated in rust etched with glowing runes impaled in the middle, though it was a little lopsided.

As the blade kept the fire ignited, the bones exuded a dense aura, the orange streaks bending and twisting around like flames, though they didn't radiate a conventional heat, rather a calm allure, drawing Annie and her Souls closer.

A bonfire, and not the mundane wood and oil fires she'd seen all around the place but an actual bonfire contrived by undead, flowing with Estus. Her heart skipped with joy as she approached it-

Her fatal mistake was letting her guard down to admire the sights as figures sprung from the foliage with a roar, Annie taking her axe in hand and preparing to face the bandits, the first vaulting onto the platform from below while other's circled around.

It became apparent he was no ordinary bandit by his apparel: massive combat armor with heavy steel plates on his shoulders and legs, a massive greataxe in each arm, and while they were short handled and stout, they were enormous, each one heavy enough to anchor a ship-

He took to the air with a great leap, hanging in the air with momentum a moment as Annie rolled back, before he threw his weight forward, drawing the massive blade into the stone, turning the granite to powder and scattering several stones.

The Undead came forward to counter, retreating again as he twisted with a throaty grunt, nearly slicing her in two with his other great axe, throwing his weight back and pulling both to his sides, though the undead didn't have time to register him as a figure appeared past his shoulder, drawing a hand to himself and focusing a ball of intense flame, which Annie barely evaded as he threw it, the burning mass launching past her and shattering the bark of a tree, toppling it-

Her vision went black at the edge as an unseen fighter ambushed her from the side, hitting her with a heavy pad of studded, hardened leather over her knuckles, the undead's eyes blinking as she staggered to the side, her head ringing as a second huge blow knocked her from her feet and nearly broke her jaw, Annie tearing as she felt the impact clear to the back of her head, the bone crunching-

She spat up a few teeth, her tongue shredded by the enamel as she let them fall from her swollen mouth, tasting her own blood as she leaned up, the figure with the axes marching up and raising the great weapon above his head for the riposte. She squinted her eyes and jerked to the side involuntarily, the figure halting before he finished the blow-

"Hold!" he shouted in a deep, raspy voice, lowering his weapons and looking to the others, who halted in their places. She gazed up to him in a daze as he looked down on her inquisitively, staring at the side of her neck, where her Darksign still seethed.

She was positive she was fucked, until he reached up to his heavy hood and scarf, drawing the veil down and pulling the scarf off, Annie's eyes widening.

His eyes had sunken into his head considerably, the white orbs bloodshot and shriveled while the eyelining was black as graphite, his flesh a pale, russet orange color, the flesh falling from the bones with saggy, dead cells, his muttonchop beard stringy and frizzed as the hair split and stiffened.

He looked similar to a Draugr in terms of dead, only instead of Frost, whole but withered with cold and time, he more resembled Fire: alive but slowly fading away into nothing.

"You're… Undead?" Annie gasped, the leader kneeling down and extending his arm,

"Sorry we didn't recognize ya," he rasped benevolently, "you've held up a lot better than most of us, are you hurt?"

"I'm not tickled," she muttered as she took his hand, getting pulled to her feet and promptly lead to the bonfire to heal,

"That is not the way I would've liked to meet ya," he laughed roughly, hacking and clearing his throat, "but it's very hard to establish a bonfire here, and why are you traveling alone?" Annie took it in stride, all of then sitting in the warm glow, Annie feeling her hurt eye rapidly deflating while her broken teeth fell out with a gentle pop, brand new, shining ones pressing in to replace them as her strength returned.

She'd forgotten how great it felt to bask in the radiance of the fires, and the opportunity more than made up for the little misunderstanding as she filled him in:

"I was part of the voyage 'Guiding Star', but we got hit really hard by these damn wizards in black hoods, and a few soldiers with this green armor while we were scouting. I lost my weapon and plunged down a gorge in the fighting, but I managed to survive, so rather than returning to camp, I got swept up by the locals. What is it?" She asked when the lead figure lit up,

"Well, we are voyage Guiding Star," he rasped, his hollowing pretty far advanced, making it hard to speak, with his insides dried out. His heavy hands reached out and grabbed the sides of Annie's face, turning it this way and that, though she felt at ease, as all undead stood together in one way or another, "Annie? You haven't aged a day, like you didn't even die…"

"Do I…" she gazed into his eyes, trying to look past the cruel shell of his form and see his real face, seeing the twinkling eyes of a middle aged, bawdy old sailor with a great split mane on his face and a hulking if a little stubby form through the clouds of undeath over her mind, "Holland!" She exclaimed, nearly driving the captain to the ground as he laughed and wrapped his bear like arms around her.

"I knew you couldn't forget me, if you did I'd hang you up by that mangy hair of yours!" he snapped, driving his knuckles hard into her scalp and shredding some of the already ragged dirty blonde strands.

It was hard to believe she couldn't remember the face of her own squad leader, though he'd hollowed a lot since she last saw him, the two finally parting,

"What happened to you?"

"Life, mostly." He shrugged, motioning for one of them to dig up the Bottomless Box which housed all manner of supplies, weapons, armors, and equipment undoubtedly concealed nearby, "Soon after you disappeared, we started encountering large drakes, and lost many lives. We fought hard, but yesterday we ran into even more bullshit: great hordes of mad hollows. For every one of us, we killed fifty of the bastards, but we were still outnumbered greatly. Now we're fighting goddamned dragons and Hollows across the hold. Some of us did well others… not so well." He laughed, though Hollowfication by repeated death was no laughing matter.

"Do you have any Humanity?" The two sent earlier came back with the mystic box, setting it down and opening the apparently empty, velvet-lined case.

They reached in, and by some trick of the eye, where Annie could see the hand rubbing the bottom of the blurry case and reaching _through_ the velvet at the same time, they retrieved a large jar of humanity sprites, the undead laughing and cheering a little as they passed the precious things around, the bobbing, humanoid figures with tiny, blank eyes and a faint corona of snow white getting crushed, unleashing the energy within them as the compressed mass was dropped into the starving flames.

Though a sliver of pure dark drawn from the essence of the human soul, when fed to the fire, it would cause it to flare up like powerful kindling: it could chase off even the deepest hollowing, though it was extremely rare and precious. In fact-

"I didn't think there was Humanity in Tamriel." Annie noted above he sighs of undead as they restored their bodies, a new figure speaking up for Holland:

"There wasn't, the gods let people live without the stuff since ages ago, but it looks like this 'Abyss' of yours has undone all that, now it's seeping into the heart and soul of all the men here. We haven't found a complete sprite so far, but between all the Draugr, marauders, and soldiers we're piecing more and more of them together, with larger and denser splinters each time. That wretched pit seems to be breeding the things exponentially, somehow."

Annie remembered that black swathe surrounding the soul of the Draugr warlord, a cloak of Humanity.

"it's the Dark Soul, for sure," the halberdier growled, offput by something about the magician, squinting closely at him through his hood, the figure laughing gruffly:

"Oh, where are my manners," he satirized, drawing his hood down for her to see, the undead's eyes widening. It was an elf, with hard, angular features and dark skin, with seemed emphasize the deep rouge of his eyes, "What's the matter?" he retorted, "never seen an undead Dunmer before?"

"But, he's a native!" Annie directed to Holland, his head shaking.

"Of course," the magician growled, rolling his eyes, "because we Dunmer have the worst luck in Mundus. I was coming into Skyrim to look for artifacts, when our ship was destroyed by a heavy storm. I washed up dead, but returned to a bonfire hidden not far off."

"Then, the Darksign is already here?" The mage had nothing to retort to that, a grim silence passing over the group. The Darksign was drawn towards the Abyss, stretching from the ruins of Lordran towards Tamriel.

If it had made landfall already, then the spread of the Abyss was even faster than they anticipated. There was something distinctly wrong with that picture, though. Even with a fresh, uncorrupted land like Tamriel to feed from, the spread of dark was progressing astronomically fast. There had to be an outside cause, but what? "We have to hurry."

"You won't find an argument here, dove." The Dunmer bit, "but first we have to find it, and between the Dragons, Draugr, and Stormcloaks, we can't very well walk there."

"We have a plan," Annie returned,

"I'm sure you do."

"No wait," Holland interjected, "Annie's had more contact with the humans, what is your idea?"

With great haste, Annie ran down the majority of what had happened in her time around the cities, and what they had learned about the Dragon Priests,

"Well," the Dunmer nodded, "now all we have to do is find a homicidal undead Archmage, likely hidden in the deepest pit they could find. How does that help us?"

"Do you ever give it a fucking break?" Annie barked, flustered a bit,

"No."

"Come off it," Holland growled, lighting another fat cigar and taking several deep huffs, eyes squinted in thought, "It seems to be the only way, right now. I have a brigade of men not far away, I'll see if I can round them up, storm the lair of this priest and see if that dampens the Dragon's mood." The other undead snickered and nodded in agreement, Annie almost forgetting to add:

"If it isn't too much, can you watch Riverwood while we're out. I… we met a few people there."

"I don't know, I think we've been a little soul deprived, right?" Holland winked, the mischievous undead already getting ready for battle, going to the bottomless box to shuffle their weapons,

"Thanks guys," Annie nodded, a little reluctantly as she got up, eyeing the box,

"Need anything?" Holland offered, "We don't have too much, but you can take whatever you find."

"Yeah," Annie breathed, going to the vessel and reaching around, "As fun as it was to run around with her plain steel axe, a proper Titanite halberd would be great. It was strange peering into the box, seeing her vision warp where the space seemed to end and begin at the same time, going more by touch than sight, yet she seemed to know what she was touching on, until she finally drew the long polearm from its rest.

It was as long as her body, with a plain but sturdy shaft, a long, crescent axe for cutting with a deadly spearpoint for thrusting. It was mundane, but definitely a weapon she found herself comfortable with, as some of the weapons of Lordran were Legendary, but kept under very close watch in Anor Londo.

It was even said the Bottomless Box of the Chosen Undead himself was kept by Saint Solaire, as some of its contents were feared by even the gods. What she wouldn't give to try one of those on for size.

As she lashed the weapon to her back, she found herself peering at the numbers of undead, Holland excusing himself to gather his forces, while his lieutenant's accompanied Annie.

"Can I go with you?" The Dunmer called,

"Ah, shut up Eelenok!"

"Shut up Eelenok!" Every other undead tutted playfully, successfully annoying the salty dark elf.

"To Oblivion with all of you," He snapped, grumbling as he followed them back towards Riverwood. As dysfunctional as it was, it was nice to be part of a team again, Annie hoping it was enough.

Boy, did she have a surprise for Edmund and company…

* * *

Soundtrack:

Aftermath: Zack Hemsey – Redemption

Return to Riverwood: Two Steps From Hell – Hello World

Annie's Past: Dark Souls OST – The Hidden Track

The Forests of Tamriel: Morrowind OST – The Road Most Traveled

Ambush: Dark Souls II – Afflicted Graverobber, Ancient Soldier Varg, Cerah the Old Explorer

The Crew of Guiding Star: Terry Divine King – Red September

Darksign in Skyrim: Legend - Darkness


End file.
